


Dust to Dust

by phoenician



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Deal with a Devil, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity Stone Soul World (Marvel), Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Life-Affirming Sex, Minor Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, POV Natasha Romanov, POV Steve Rogers, Past Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov - Freeform, Past Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Self-Sacrificing Steve Rogers, Soul Stone (Marvel), Space Flight, Steve Rogers Feels, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenician/pseuds/phoenician
Summary: Steve Rogers's journey with Natasha Romanoff didn’t start or end on some rock in the center of the Celestial universe.For more than a decade, it was always her standing next to him as the world fell apart.Now, he has a chance to bring her back. Even if that means a deal - or dance - with the devil.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 196
Kudos: 367





	1. 10b.Vormir.2014

**Author's Note:**

> Typical disclaimer here. I've been haunted by this idea for a while, and haven't seen anything *quite* like it. So maybe y'all will like it too. I'm a sucker for tragic time travel stories, and these idiots have been a huge 'ship for me since _Winter Soldier._
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Note on Reading Order / Chapter Names**  
>  There are two orders in which you can read this story: 1) the order in which it is posted or 2) the sequence of the chapter names. 
> 
> Think of the chapter names like "time coordinates" of the story. The chapters aren't in order from Steve and Nat's perspectives; rather, I am utilizing flashbacks to amp up the emotional stakes, but writing time travel + flashbacks is tricky. Therefore, I am naming the chapters to help distinguish _where_ in their timeline we are (see example). My hope is, by the end, you can read it in either order (but forewarned, the "coordinates" may be updated/cleaned up before the end!).
>
>> **Example:** _Chapter 12: 05a.USA-NY.2023.1_ \- **Chp 12:** ..12th chapter | **05:** 5th scene from characters' POV | **a:** Timeline ( _a=Prime; b=Branch_ ) | **USA-NY:** Location | **2023:** Year | **.1:** Sub-order (for multiple scenes from the point in time!)
> 
>   
> **Playlist/"Soundtrack"**  
> [If you're on Spotify, I've been adding related songs here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7FuUFCEVGK5AHjft9lceoI?si=ryaVhmlHRzCIeSwBLmT_cA).
> 
> * * *
> 
> That's it! Feel free to leave comments with your thoughts! I try to reply within a day or two! I hope you enjoy reading!

**Vormir, 2014**

* * *

A thundering crash. Darkness rushed in, punctuated by a flash of white light. Then Steve Rogers was on his back, in the shallow waters away from the mount. Now, he was awash in the sudden calm after.

Did he die? No. He didn't feel dead. What he felt was the solid ground beneath him and the gentle lapping of water against his skin. He stared up at the sky. His eyes felt heavy as he took in wonder at the stars overhead. He remembered seeing space for the first time, in that ship five years ago. It wasn't some dim light through a telescope. Space was violent - alive with color. Out here, he could see the purples and blues, the dots of stars from who knows when. 

Hot tears streaked down the sides of his face. He was alone, staring up into God's creation, and he was at war with himself. Emotions he kept bottled up through the battle - no, for the last five years. Frustration, grief, anger. He led lost souls to find their path forward, but how could he move forward? After regaining what they lost, but still feeling lost... At the celestial center of the universe, Steve Rogers didn't have to be stoic. 

A gentle splash brought him back to… not Earth. To his present surroundings. He sat up, flexing his fist to find his hand empty. The final stone had been returned. The last tangible connection to _her._ Steve's face twisted in anguish. 

A cough. He snapped his head around, looking for the source of the movement and spotting-- 

Her. 

_Natasha._

Fair skin peeked out over the water. A woman on her side, almost blending into the smooth curve of the mountains behind her. That red-blonde braid, stuck to the curve of her neck. A bare shoulder and hip sticking out from the water's surface. 

He scrambled to his knees and crawled to her, disturbing the serene quiet of hell. She was stripped of her armor, her weapons. What clothing clung to her body looked like it had come apart at the seams. Grabbing her shoulder, he turned her onto her back.

It was _her_.

"Nat… Nat," he pleaded with her, his voice hoarse. Had he stopped crying yet? He pulled her out of the water, pushing wet hair back and out of her face. He touched his forehead to hers, willing her to regain consciousness. "Natasha, please." 

No response. 

His eyes scouring her for any sign that he had been duped. It looked like her. It felt like her. Maybe…

Maybe his deal with the devil paid off.

She was breathing, but the color was drained from her face. Steve had to get her out of here. He hoisted her up in his arms in one smooth gesture, the waters of Vormir running off their bodies. 

He pivoted, seeking the range of mountains. He landed the spacecraft he commandeered behind one of those peaks. He waded to the shore, in the direction of the ship he hoped to return to its owner. 

...After he got her to off this damned planet.


	2. 06b.USA-NJ.1970.1

_“The world has changed, and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes, the best that we can do is to start over.”_  
\- Peggy Carter ****

_**New Jersey, 1970  
Camp Lehigh** _  


* * *

_Click._

Steve Rogers froze, having successfully returned the stone back in its rightful place in the timeline.

"You truly are asking to be caught," the woman said behind him. 

He'd recognize that accent anywhere, any time. Steve knew she was here in 1970 - he saw her with his own eyes. But he wasn't sure how he was going to react coming face-to-face with the first woman he loved, given everything that happened to get the stones. Everything and _everyone_ they had lost. 

Including Natasha. 

"If I didn't want to get caught," Steve started, lifting his head and raising his hands to where she could see them. He slowly turned toward Director Margaret Carter, the Captain America sigil on his chest peeking out from the borrowed jacket. "I would've been more discreet." 

The fierce expression on Peggy Carter's face dropped faster than the pistol in her hand. When she did lower her firearm, Steve caught the tell-tale glint of a diamond on her finger. 

"Steve?" she asked, sounding like the breath had been knocked out of her. Her heels clicked on the linoleum tile as she approached him to get a better look. "Is that...?" 

He gave a slow nod, lowering his hands. "Yeah, Peg. It's me."

She stared at him like she was trying to calculate the possibilities. He was prepared to not say anything, partly to preserve the integrity of this past.

"You came back," she said, her voice dropping. 

Something shattered deep in his heart with that reaction alone. Overwhelmed by the memory of how Peggy grew old ( _would grow old_ ) and how they relived ( _will relive_ ) this moment again and again and again. Was he doomed to repeat this cycle with her? 

Peggy stopped in front of him and he stayed still. She carefully reached for his face, her fingers sweeping along his stubbled jaw. Then her palm cupped his cheek. Finally, Peggy pushed his jacket open wide to survey the white star plastered across his chest, stretching her hands across his chest.

His expression crumbled underneath her touch. 

He couldn't do this. He shouldn't be here. He couldn't survive the unintentional reminder of Peggy in her hospital bed and the impact of her touch, with its tenderness and strength. The feeling she left in him was dissonant - familiar and foreign at the same time. 

He should have been more discreet.

"Fuck," Steve breathed. His eyes slid shut, and he braced himself, trying to control his emotions and impulses from flooding any thread of rationality he had left. 

"…language." 

Her comment startled a laugh out of him - in a way he hadn't laughed in a long time - so he dared to look at her. She was still standing close, her fists now clenched on the lapels of the jacket. She was within touching distance if he wanted to return the gesture. More than touching, if Steve were a weaker (or braver - or stupider) man. But this wasn't his Peggy. He knew that, from her clothing to the way she styled her hair. Gone was the awestruck expression from her face, replaced with something more professional. Perhaps she, too, was trying to maintain her composure.

She remembered her manners and let go of the jacket, releasing Steve. She cleared her throat. "We should move somewhere more private, so you can tell me what in the hell is going on, Captain." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

* * *

Having been left in her office while she handled the fallout from their earlier break-in, Steve Rogers lifted a framed photograph from the corner of her desk. 

The photograph was black and white, with Peggy Carter in a white wedding dress and veil, a bouquet in her hands. She was beaming. Next to her, a dark-haired man with a square jaw, in a fine suit. Steve's jaw clenched. He knew she had a life when he found her after coming out of the ice. There was proof. He remembered the family portraits by her bed. He saw the diamond when she had her weapon aimed at him. He knew she would have to be married at some point in her life. 

But he had never seen a wedding photo. 

Peggy returned, shutting the door behind her. In the fluorescent light of her office, he could see the faint strands of gray starting to frame her face, the laughter lines around her eyes. That life she went on to have - it was wonderful to see in her features.

Steve raised the photo in his hand. "What's his name?"

"Daniel."

"Does he dance?"

She smiled demurely, taking the photo from Steve and placing it back in its spot on her desk. "Yes."

They fell into silence, their bodies angled toward each other as they stood in front of her desk - the Director's desk. Steve wanted to take her into his arms, and Peggy seemed to want that, too. But they both had reasons why they shouldn't.

She started. "I have so much to say, so much to ask that I don't know where to begin," she admitted quietly. "But most importantly - how?"

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, glancing at where she had placed the photograph. It had prime desk real estate. "I'm not ready to tell you that, Peggy. I'm sorry."

Her face twisted. He knew it was supposed to be a scowl, but it looked more like a pout. "Then, when? How long have you been back?" she demanded.

Steve decided on a different approach to curb her very reasonable questions. "I am trying not to say anything that will compromise events - but yes, I come back. I'm brought back. S.H.I.E.L.D. recovers me in about forty years. Now, I'm on a mission in the past." 

Peggy staggered back a step. She regarded him skeptically. 

He sighed, resisting the urge to close off and cross his arms in front of his chest. He kept his body language open, relaxed. And he was reasonably sure that they both knew what else was possible. So why not this? "I know it sounds crazy, Peg - that _I_ sound crazy. But it's true." 

She moved to her office window, overlooking the floor. "Are you implying… time travel?" 

"Yeah." 

"How is that even possible?" 

"Well, you have some pretty smart people working for you. One day, very soon, one of those people will become a father." 

Her eyes snapped to him. She caught his meaning, glancing toward her office door. Howard Stark had already left for the day - Steve saw him get into the car when he and Tony made the jump back.

"Is that how they're able to recover you?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Something like that."

Another silence. 

"Then - what are you doing here?" 

"Returning what we took earlier," Steve admitted to the earlier commotion. "We needed to borrow the Tesseract. I'm simply returning it, so its temporary disappearance doesn't create issues in history." He wasn't going to tell her about clipping branches. Though this was Peggy he was talking to, he didn't want to think if this conversation took place once the timeline was healed. 

"The Tesseract?" 

He nodded solemnly. "You know how powerful it is. It held - _holds_ \- what's called an Infinity Stone. There's six of them out in the universe, and someone used them to unmake half of all life." 

She inhaled sharply. "My god…" 

"I'm not telling you this to prepare you for war. The Avengers - my team - we're equipped to handle it when it comes to pass. We reverse it, with the help of the stones like the one in the Tesseract. I volunteered to return the stones." 

"That sounds like… quite the mission." 

"Yeah, well…" he said, the corner of his mouth lifting a little. "I have a couple more stones to deliver to their rightful time and place before I can go back." 

Peggy pursed her lips at that. 

"What?" 

The look on her face showed the debate in her head. Finally, she had made a decision to call out what she noticed. "You didn't call it home, Steve. You said _back_ , but not home."

Huh. Steve mulled that over, not wanting to admit that Earth in 2023 was less of his home now for very specific reasons. Instead, he gave a shrug. "What's home to a man like me, Peggy?" 

She studied him with those deep brown eyes that haunted him. He wasn't proud to admit it, but her eyes made him reconsider how he could use one of his jumps to go back just one more time. 

Maybe if the Time Heist had occurred right after Thanos's snap five years ago, before he had a chance to spend that time with someone in the aftermath, he would have made a different choice. He could jump back before Daniel - before Peggy settled down with this man that wasn't him. 

Before he grew closer to Natasha.

Peggy's thoughts must have been in the same territory. "Surely, you must have someone - or a family. A man like yourself?" she echoed his phrasing, a smirk playing at her red lip.

"You know me. Wait too long, and then it's too late," Steve said, offering a lopsided grin and a dimple. "I am beyond hope." 

"I don't believe that for a second, Steve Rogers." 

Part of him felt loyal to Peggy, the steadfast siren in his war-worn compass. But she had lived her life - the way Tony wanted him to get one. Steve admired her for it. After everything he'd been through, it would've been nice to find solace - a quiet life with someone. He had someone in mind, but she had seemed unable (or unwilling) to let him become a more substantial part of her life.

Steve decided if he was going to admit any of this, it felt safest to leave it with Peggy Carter. 

"There was a girl," he tentatively said, trying out the words. "We never pursued it, though. We had moments. But we knew each other for too long that… it felt like if something was gonna happen, it would have. She was my partner at S.H.I.E.L.D. And went on to lead the Avengers." 

To his surprise, Peggy's face lit up with a sympathetic smile. She leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed in front of her uniform, settling in for a story. "Tell me about her." 

"She was smart," he said, the words falling out his mouth before he could stop himself. "Caring. Loyal. Fearless. Hell of a shot. We... didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things, at first. She had a different way of looking at things. But she was... She was a thing to behold." 

Peggy's expression softened, and she touched his arm. "What happened to her?" 

"...Who said anything happened to her?" 

"You're talking about her as if she's already gone, Steve. What happened?"


	3. 03a.USA-NY.2022.1

_"If you’re about to tell me to look on the bright side, I’m about to hit you with a peanut butter sandwich."  
_\- Natasha Romanoff_ _

**_Upstate New York, May 2022  
The Avengers Facility_ **

* * *

Steve Rogers hadn't been back to the compound in a few weeks. Maybe a month. He entered the facility, which was empty and quiet as a tomb. His steps echoed on polished concrete. A mausoleum for the memory of the Avengers. He wasn't usually so grim, but today had been a rough day.

Today was the fourth anniversary of the Snap. 

He dropped the duffel on the foot of his bed before weaving through the rest of the sleeping quarters. Room by room, he checked for any signs that anything had shifted in his absence. If something was amiss - a bed unmade, a sock out of its drawer - he would tidy it up. 

Rhodey looked like he had been by recently, but Steve knew he spent more time out in the field than here. Bruce hadn't been by in over a year. Still, Steve tucked the sheet in and lined up the pillows. 

Exiting the sleeping quarters, Steve could hear the conference call happening down in his former office. The office had been hers since they returned from Wakanda in 2018. He recognized the voices, presumably projecting from the holo-screens as they reported to Natasha on their activity. 

Steve headed to the kitchen. 

The dishes were piling up next to the sink because there was no more room in the sink. Plates with crumbs stacked, knives crusted in peanut butter and either jam or honey, mugs with dried coffee rings. Some food containers and wrappers. The stove looked untouched. 

Steve scanned the rest of the kitchen, taking stock of the empty shelves in the pantry and fridge. The family-size jar of crunchy peanut butter. Some crackers. The heels of a loaf of bread.

When he left last time, the counter was clean, and there was more food in storage. 

Steve rolled up his sleeves and started reorganizing the dirty dishes so he could get started.

"Hey, you," Natasha said, sheepishly entering the kitchen with another plate and knife. "What're you doing here?" 

Steve lifted his head from his task, turning to watch her approach. He tried his best to ignore the skip in his chest whenever he saw her. Today, her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She wore a black t-shirt tied at her waist, with her high-waisted jeans and combat boots.

At least the clothes looked clean, and her hair freshly washed. There was some time after the Snap when they both had bad days. 

Steve gave her a small smile. "Thought you might like to hit something, so I stopped by," he told her. He nodded toward the cleared spot on the counter. "Go ahead," he added, inviting her to add to the pile. She approached the counter, placing her plate and glass next to the sink. He took it without question and put it in the water.

"Not in the mood to spar today. No offense," Natasha said, humor creeping into her voice. 

"None taken. I know why you wouldn't want me to kick your ass." 

She narrowed her eyes at him, before moving around him and kicking him playfully as she passed, only brushing the back of his thigh. She yanked the fridge open to find something, but Steve could see the shelves were bare from here. She grabbed one of the remaining juices, relaxing at the counter next to him. 

They stood quietly as he washed the dishes, starting with the silverware. Silence hadn't always been comfortable with Natasha because he once thought she was keeping him in the dark. Over the years, though, he learned to tell the difference between her keeping her mouth shut and her wanting to quietly be near him. This moment seemed the latter, which he preferred. 

She used to be like this with Barton. 

Yeah, Steve much preferred her to be like that with him instead. 

_Listen, Natasha..._

"I was thinking we should go for a drive," he said before he could stop himself.

Nat's stance changed, and she moved from his side. She hopped up on the kitchen island behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at her, watching her swing her feet in a carefree way.

Another skip in his chest. He wished Nat had more moments like this. 

"Oh yeah? Where to?" she humored him. 

"Well, I closed on a place in Brooklyn last month. Thought you might want to visit and see how the city has changed." He paused before adding with a smirk. "Housewarming gift not required." 

Natasha froze at his invitation, mid juice. "Brooklyn's more than two hours from here," she said before shaking her head. "I… need to be here if there are any calls from the team." 

Steve bit his tongue about the distance. He used to come up to the compound from Brooklyn more regularly but reduced his visits when she seemed thoroughly occupied. He wanted to help; he just had to focus on the survivors, not obsess over those lost. It was difficult because he felt so helpless watching her. At the same time, he understood why she felt compelled to carry on with the work. 

"And you can't take calls from the road?" He tried to keep his tone light. "Natasha, you don't have food in the fridge." 

She stared at him. "I don't need to go to Brooklyn for a grocery run." 

"That's not why--" he started. The frustration began to boil over in his tone, and he didn't want to lash out. He stopped himself to rinse a dish and regain his composure. "I'm worried about you, Nat. You're out here, all on your own." 

_Listen, Natasha - let's get out of here._

She bristled at that. Steve knew she had felt a certain way when he moved out. But she hadn't stopped him or asked him to stay. "You've got nothing to worry about. I'm fine. I've been keeping busy," she said. 

"I know. That's why I'm worried," Steve said. He placed the final dish on the rack. He opened the drain to let the sudsy water go. "You're allowed a break. You're allowed to step outside. You're allowed to use the dishwasher. You're allowed… to be something more than an answering machine." 

Every year, Steve found his way back to the compound. Really, he would show up wherever she was. Natasha never asked why he sought her out on the anniversary, so she had to know that it wasn't just the Snap. It also wasn't because she was his closest friend left, though that was a fair statement with Bucky and Sam gone. Peggy had already departed, and Sharon had vanished too. Tony and him never truly reconciled after Tony returned to Earth.

Natasha, in a way, was all he had left.

"Okay," she said, sounding small. 

He didn't mean to make her feel ashamed in any way. He sighed. "Natasha…" 

"Let's drive to Brooklyn." 

Shocked, he turned toward her, slowly drying his hands. He studied her for a beat, trying to figure her out before he confirmed. "You sure?" 

She shrugged, seeming small. She gave a definitive nod. "Gotta see what's out there, so we know how to protect it. And Rhodey's gonna be gone for a little while, so I have to see it with my own eyes." 

Whatever way Natasha wanted to justify the trip, Steve would take it. However, he saw that mischievous glint in her eye. He ignored the urge to scoop her up and carry her out. But most importantly, right now, he wanted to get on the road before she changed her mind. 

* * *

He usually didn't arrive and immediately turn around on the same day. But if Natasha Romanoff wanted to leave the compound, Steve Rogers was going to make it happen. 

He returned his duffel to the trunk of his car and set Natasha's bag next to his. Natasha was already settled into the passenger seat, waiting for him in the cab of the vehicle. He slid into the driver's seat as she stared out to the compound. 

"You can still make a break for it. Run back inside, if you want," Steve said, turning the ignition. 

She rolled her eyes, then shot him a look. "Don't make me hit you, Rogers. Drive." 

"Yes, ma'am." He grinned. 

They got on the road by late afternoon, with an arrival time in Brooklyn in the evening. Natasha leaned against the headrest as she watched the trees pass by. When the road was clear ahead of him, he found himself boldly watching her. Sometimes she'd give him a small smile and hold his gaze. He didn't even tell her to take her foot off the dash.

Steve felt calm behind the wheel with Natasha by his side and the world passing them by. They could sit together for hours and not say anything, or they could have some of the most meaningful conversations of his contemporary life. 

_Listen, Natasha - I've been thinking..._

Somewhere on I-87 south, driving along the Hudson, Natasha reached over and placed her hand on top of his, and it felt like his heart stopped. 

She did little things like that now and then: small gestures of affection. Steve had noticed when she did them, there was no hesitation on her part. Like the act was a final decision she made, and there was no question she would follow-through. 

He turned his hand, adjusting their hands on the console so he could lace his fingers with hers. It felt platonic and dangerous at the same time. Like they were dancing around something, and he didn't want to spook Nat.

_Listen, Natasha - I can't stop thinking about us._

The words were playing on a loop in his head these days, weeks, months. Whenever he saw her, his brain went into overdrive. He couldn't figure out the right way to say things, which was the first part of the problem. The second part was he didn't want to know where he stood with her. She had her work leading the Avengers, keeping the worlds safe, and tracking Barton. If he knew where he ranked among those, Steve felt it would ruin the friendship they had, and he would be devastated. 

So instead, he practiced his confession and took the scraps of her affection. 

_Listen, Natasha - I miss you._

In his periphery, she glanced his way but said nothing about him entwining their fingers. She gave his hand a squeeze, and he held it for nearly thirty highway miles before he needed it back on the steering wheel. 

* * *

_**Brooklyn** _

* * *

They made it to Brooklyn after nightfall. The street lights greeted them as he parked in front of the Brownstone that was finally his. He had always wanted to be back in Brooklyn since he came out of the ice. 

Steve carried both their bags, slung over his shoulder as he led the way up to the parlor level. He let them in, holding the door open for her. She slid into his house, stopping when she caught sight of the framed photograph hanging in the foyer. 

"Right through there," Steve redirected her, pointing her through the double doors into the central part of the floor. He set their bags on the stairs, pausing to look at the frame that caught Natasha's eye. An early photograph of the Avengers - when they first moved into the Stark Tower. He looked so young then, standing between Tony and Thor. Natasha stood down in front. 

Steve followed her into the main living room, finding her already exploring. Seeing her examine his belongings made him look at the place through new eyes too. Maybe it seemed too vintage. Perhaps too out of touch with 2022. It was more mid-century, which was a bit more modern than he usually would've done. But he liked the amount of wood he had in this room, compared to the coldness of the Avengers compound. His collections were on display in this front room, meticulously situated on the built-in shelves. By the bay window in the front of the home, he had a loveseat, side table, and lamp - a reading or internet research nook. 

He held his breath, waiting for her reaction. 

Nat surveyed his baseball memorabilia before moving to his sound system and turntable. She smirked at him. "So far, this is very you, Steve," she delivered her verdict. 

"You don't think it's too old-fashioned?" 

"No. It's classic," Nat assured him. "I like it." 

Steve hovered in the archway into the living room, leaning against the doorframe. He watched as she pored over the contents of his record collection, her finger running over the spines of the covers.

"You've got some eclectic tastes, Rogers. Didn't expect you to be a Joni Mitchell fan. Much less Queen. But then again, who isn't a fan of Freddie Mercury?" Natasha was talking mostly to herself as she scanned. Her fingers froze over one before she extracted it from the shelf. Steve recognized the cover. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, 1957. _Ella and Louis Again_. 

"Recommendation from Sam. He really thought I'd like that one," Steve explained, nodding to the album she held. "He said it might be a good transition piece from the 1940s to the 1970s." 

Natasha regarded the record with new eyes and appreciation. Sam was her friend, too. "Was he right? Did you like it?" 

Steve didn't think he could use words to express his feelings toward that album, so he just nodded. 

"Can I put it on?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure." 

If it were anyone else, Steve would feel nervous about the way she was handling the vinyl record. She flipped it a couple of times, considering each side before delicately setting into the platter and spindle. She moved the tonearm, aligning the stylus to the groove. She pressed start, and the sound sputtered before playing through the speakers. The twinkle of piano surrounded them, the moody pluck of a guitar, then Ella Fitzgerald's velvety voice.

Steve watched Natasha as she watched the record spin, before she moved to the bay area window, looking out to his neighborhood. Spring was flirting with summer, visible in the trees lush greens illuminated by the street lights. The city lights surrounded her silhouette. 

Having her here made his place feel more like home. Maybe he should have invited her sooner. 

"You know, I never learned to dance," he finally said. 

Natasha responded after humming along with a few more bars to 'Let's Call the Whole Thing Off.' She seemed in better spirits. "It's not unlike sparring or combat, which is a conversation that needs to happen. Just in physical form," she said. 

Then, she turned to him and held a hand out to him. It didn't take a moment for him to consider her offer. He joined her in the middle of the floor and took her hand. 

"I might step on your toes," he warned.

"You did come to the compound looking for a fight. I'm prepared." 

Steve placed his hand on high on her waist, against her ribs. She repositioned it to be in the curve of her waist. She folded her hand into his and stepped in close, barely brushing his front. 

"Nervous yet, Rogers?" 

Natasha looked up at him with those big green eyes, barely any makeup on her face that he could tell. She stopped wearing so much after they returned to Earth after killing Thanos. 

Her eyes flickered between his. She was gauging his reaction while he was trying not to fall into the pools of green in her eyes. The song changed to 'These Foolish Things.'

"Not the word I'd use," he said, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. "I see what you mean about it being like combat." 

"That's why we were taught ballet," she admitted, sounding distant. She had mentioned her training and upbringing before, but Steve tried not to pry when she did. She continued, her eyes dropping to his mouth. "It requires complete control over how your body moves." 

There was something twisted about taking a beautiful art form and using it to mold those girls. Steve wouldn't say that to Natasha - it wasn't a helpful comment. Besides, he was fascinated by how she was staring at him. Like maybe what he felt wasn't so one-sided. He knew how she was in control of her body.

Steve didn't want to interrupt her admiration, so he held her in his arms and moved back and forth to the music. The smooth tempo, the slow rhythm. "So, we sway?"

She smiled, the corner of her eyes crinkling as she reset her gaze to his. "Yes, we sway. That's all that's needed. Though... we can add a simple box step if you'd like to move me across the floor." 

Flashes of them hitting the mat during their sparring sessions flitted in his mind. "I'd like that," he said. 

"The student wants extra credit," she quipped approvingly. "Watch my feet and mirror me." 

Natasha gave him space to observe her steps, but Steve immediately missed how close she was. She counted each move out loud before he moved his feet in tandem. Still, there was a gap between them, but he was dancing with her. Soon, he caught the rhythm of the step to the beat of the music. Steve was even leading, and Natasha was willing to be led. 

The record continued to play, as he started to rotate their box step and brought her in close. He was confident he wouldn't step on her toes - and if he did, he was sure she would let him have it. Their banter fell away, and the box step incorporated more of the swaying. The songs alternated between Fitzgerald's sweet voice, and Armstrong's gravely one. If the tempo changed, Steve adjusted their pace.

They had already restarted the record once by the time Natasha pressed her cheek against his. He relished in the feeling over her leaning into him, one hand on his arm and the other on his chest. "I always wanted to dance with someone like this," she said, her vulnerable words slipping out.

 _Yeah. Steve, too._ "You're a good teacher and a better partner. You're welcome over anytime," he said, almost directly in her ear. 

He could feel her smile against his cheek. "Does that mean I get a key?" she teased. 

"Do you want one?" 

Natasha paused then nodded, her skin shifting against his. She could have it all, as far as Steve was concerned.

After a beat, she backtracked. "Never know when I'll need to crash in Brooklyn." 

He swallowed, pushing down the rising uncertainty. "Hopefully, you'd use it more than that." 

Natasha fell quiet for a moment - a song and a half. Then she added, "You got yourself a nice little place here, Rogers. Maybe you can finally have a nice girl over. Court her. I can show you more dance steps to seal the deal." 

This wasn't the same as her matchmaking efforts early in their partnership. This was Nat purposefully distancing herself by shoving Steve away. Keeping him at arm's length even when he held her in his arms. 

"I'm not really looking for anyone right now," he dismissed her suggestion, lifting his head to look her in her face. "I have what I need right here." 

It wasn't a direct confession, and she could take what she wanted from it. He assumed that meant she would barely acknowledge it, so why did she look like he knocked the air out of her lungs?

"What about finding the right partner?" she asked, the earnestness of her question striking him. Steve had told Natasha about his romance with Peggy, one late night when they were reminiscing over old flames. So they both knew who she meant. By referencing Peggy, Natasha had brought up a knife to twist in his chest - pushing him closer to releasing all that he pent up over the last few years. 

Steve was quick to reply. "This moment, this dance - it was better to share with a friend," he insisted, echoing her sentiment from one night in Wakanda, shortly after the Snap.

 _Listen, Natasha - it's been four years._ Based on how quickly her eyes locked onto his, she remembered it too. Back then, Natasha had told him she needed those few hours as severely as he did. Did it haunt her the same way? 

The music dropped, silence descending over the room. The stylus met the edge of the record, breaking the trance on Steve and Natasha. He didn't let her go, and she didn't drift away. Her cheeks started to turn pink, but she kept her expression neutral. "Steve?" 

"Hm?"

"I need to flip the record." 

He held her tight. She was looking at his mouth again. Then she pushed against his chest, drawing the necessary space. He readily released her and took a step back himself. 

"I'm sorry, I…" she started, pushing the stray hairs out of her face. 

That's when he noticed the tears glistening in her eyes. 

Steve didn't need to hear her reason. "You don't have to explain. Or apologize." He headed over to the record player, stilling the tonearm and setting it back to its cradle. He lifted the record and slipped it into the paper before sliding back into the cover. He felt Natasha's eyes on him. 

"Steve," Nat said, drawing closer to him. But she didn't touch him. "I'm not sure I can be who you want me to be. I'm not her." 

There it was. The killing blow. The reason Steve didn't want to hear. He was glad she couldn't see his face, to preserve some of his dignity. 

Steve decided to try and recover this moment. Not to bring back the lingering mood, but bring them back to neutral. Natasha seemed convinced he wanted something specific from her, in a particular form. But he didn't remember how he could show it was less about fantasy and more about her. "I'm not expecting you to be someone you're not, Nat. You don't have to be anyone but yourself around me." 

She looked less confident, her eyes darting around the room. 

Steve didn't want to regret coming to Brooklyn, so he put on a brave face. "Want something other than peanut butter sandwiches for dinner?" 

Nat's eyes locked onto his, some of her composure returned. "Depends on what you have."

He gave a shrug. "Spaghetti mostly. Tomato and meat sauce. I might have some Parmesan." 

"So… the Rogers version of a peanut butter sandwich?" she accused.

"At least I use the stove, Romanoff," he added, before retreating into the privacy of the kitchen. Her reply wasn't a rejection of dinner, so Steve pulled the box of spaghetti from the pantry and set a pot of water on the stove. 

How many more anniversaries would he do this? Go through this exercise to see if she was ready or if she felt the same? If she could move on together with him? How long would he wait and see? 

Out in the living room, Natasha must have put on another record. A different album, a different vibe. Music filled the empty space between them. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, 1976. 

_Listen, Natasha - we can have a life together. I think it would be a damned good one._


	4. 01a.WAK.2018

_"If it was down to me to save your life - and you be honest with me - would you trust me to do it?"_  
\- Natasha Romanoff

**_Wakanda, May 2018_ **  
**_The Citadel - Royal Palace of the Golden City_ **

* * *

_PLANES FALL OUT OF THE SKY OVER MOSCOW_

_HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS REPORTED MISSING IN LONDON_

"You don't need to see that," someone said behind her. 

Natasha Romanoff turned to see him. War Machine - Colonel James Rhodes - stood in the doorway. Rhodes joined her, gesturing to end the news transmissions one swipe at a time. 

_CARS ABANDONED, BLOCKING HIGHWAYS IN MUMBAI_

_FIRES BREAK OUT ACROSS CHINA AS CHAOS DESCENDS_

_MILLIONS ALLEGEDLY VANISH IN CALIFORNIA_

"It's… everywhere, Rhodey." 

_HAVE THE AVENGERS ABANDONED US?_

Rhodes swiped away the last feed, bringing them peace. "I know," he said, leaving a globe gently rotating on the holo-screen. "Any news from S.H.I.E.L.D.?" 

Nat sighed. "Last confirmed sighting of Fury and Hill were in Atlanta. Some agents there that haven't…" she trailed off, thinking about her mentor - her _friend_ \- possibly going up in dust. 

"...Nat?" 

She restarted her statement. "Some agents found a pager, transmitting a message they can't place. Klein thinks it might be a distress signal. If that's the case, we need to get to Atlanta, see if we can find out what Fury knew." 

Rhodes nodded, spinning the globe and enlarging the view of Atlanta. The map pulsed with reported incidents and correlating news and intel. "I can get Banner and that raccoon together. Maybe together, they can talk some sense into Thor." 

With everything else going on around them - sure, that made sense.

"Have you seen Cap?" Rhodes asked. 

Captain America - Steve Rogers - hasn't been seen much since they retreated to the Citadel, the royal palace in the Golden City of Wakanda. The remaining team he had… they all seemingly agreed to give him space. 

When Nat didn't say anything, Rhodey touched her arm. 

She took a deep breath. "Yeah," she said. Her eyes idly scanned the holographic globe. "I'll see if I can get through to him. First, I'm gonna check on the Queen Mother." 

Rhodes gave Natasha a sympathetic smile and a friendly squeeze on her shoulder.

Natasha needed to focus - there was too much death around the world, and probably through the universe. She still couldn't wrap her head around the enormity of all life. 

Neither Fury and Clint were responding to her texts. 

She tried Clint's family. 

Nothing. 

Natasha needed Steve. But if Steve couldn't function, it was gonna be her and Rhodey dragging the remnants of their team back together. Rhodey might have to take charge because Nat wasn't sure she could - or want to - take Steve's place.

* * *

Later that evening, right before sunset, Natasha approached the quarters Steve Rogers occupied in the Citadel. She waved her hand in front of the sensor. The door hissed and slid open, and she stepped inside. 

Steve was awake. He sat at the edge of the bed, facing the window looking out over the west. His back was toward her as she entered the room. He wore a white undershirt that stretched over his muscles, and a pair of sweatpants. He even looked like he recently showered and put on fresh clothes. Good. After the battle, Natasha had to practically strip him of his armor and shove him under the hot water to get the ash, blood, and dirt off him. 

"I don't know what kind of motivational speech you need. That's usually your realm of expertise rather than mine," Natasha started, approaching the bed. "So I'm going to get right to it. Fury and Hill were last spotted in Atlanta. A transmitter was found at the scene of their car." 

Nothing. 

"Rhodey and I want to get everyone on the jet by tomorrow morning, so we can head out. Meet S.H.I.E.L.D., find out what Fury knew," Natasha continued, as she circled around to the bed to where he sat. The look on Steve's face, staring into nothingness, could have broken her heart if she wasn't already so overwhelmed. 

Natasha couldn't imagine what Steve must be going through. He lost not one of his best friends, but both Sam and Bucky. Both. And after Bucky seemed better, after they had reunited with their friends. 

_Why wouldn't any of the Bartons answer her calls?_

"We can get them back, Steve. But we need to get to Atlanta. I need you," she said, kneeling down in front of him. "We all do." 

Steve didn't look at her or acknowledge what she had said.

Natasha sighed, getting back to her feet. She approached the window, overlooking the lush forest of Wakanda - scarred from the battle in their failed attempt to protect Vision and keep Thanos from getting the Mind Stone. 

Part of her felt guilty for bringing the fight to Wakanda. But then, she just spent the last hour catching up on what news there was. The whole world was practically on fire. The disappearance of half of life - not only humans but all life - marred this blue planet. 

So if it wasn't going to happen in Wakanda, it would've just been somewhere else. 

The sun blinked over the tree canopy as it dipped lower in the sky. The last couple of days had beautiful weather - an insult to what had occurred.

This really was a beautiful place.

Steve snatched her from behind, yanking her body against his in a sudden move. Natasha went rigid on instinct, unsure of what he was doing. She felt his hot breath on her neck. His hair she saw hanging in her periphery was trembling. 

Steve held onto her tight, one arm clamped around her waist, and the other draped across her chest. 

When she realized he was acting out of fear, rather than violence, Natasha relaxed a little. "Steve?" 

He didn't say anything. Natasha focused on the frantic rise and fall of his chest, trying to match her breathing to his. She relaxed as he held onto her like she was a life raft. 

Minutes passed before he calmed down. He let Natasha go and dropped back to the edge of the bed. 

Natasha deliberately turned slowly to face him, pivoting on her heels. "What was that?" 

Steve looked sheepish, dragging a hand down his tired face. "It's… I thought I saw something." 

She studied him. "What?" 

Steve shook his head, dismissing her question. 

Natasha took a few steps closer until she was standing in front of where he sat. "Steve, you can tell me. It's how we're gonna get through this." 

"I thought…" he started, then ran his tongue along his bottom lip. "The light… when it hit the window… and the dust in the air… regular dust…" 

Natasha pieced together what he was saying, and her heart dropped into her stomach. He grabbed her because he was scared -- he thought he was gonna lose her, too. 

"You thought I was going to vanish?"

Steve's weary eyes met hers, which was all the admission needed. 

She blinked back tears. "Steve Rogers, I am not going anywhere." 

"You can't promise me that, Nat," he said, sounding lost.

"Yes, I can. I was with you in D.C., when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. I helped you escape in Berlin. I have been by your side for the last two years, as we stayed underground," she said. "You can't get rid of me, Rogers. Even if you tried." 

She was within grabbing distance, and that's just what Steve did. He pulled Natasha to him, with less urgency than before. He brought her between his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist, and buried his face into her stomach. 

_Oh, Steve._

All that time on the run, it wasn't the politics she believed in. It was Steve. Like Clint and Fury taking a risk on her, Steve did too - he trusted her. Against all odds, Natasha Romanoff had won the trust of the purest human being on the planet (her opinion). And she would do nothing to betray that trust (cold hard fact). 

Steve holding on her like this was an extension of a language they knew - it's what made them such good partners on the field, moving in tandem during a fight without a word spoken. She rested her cheek on top of his head. She wrapped an arm over his shoulders. 

Natasha pressed a kiss to his crown. She ran her fingers through his hair. 

Steve's breathing changed, and his arms shifted. His hands slid down over her hips, down her thighs. He lifted his head to look at her, his expression causing her to pause. 

Pain, heat, and something else in those blue eyes of his. 

She combed his hair back, touched his beard. He gripped the back of her thighs. She pressed a kiss to his cheek… his forehead… a spot right under his eyebrow. 

Then, the dam broke. 

Steve scooped her up. He stood and swung her around in a quick maneuver that landed her on her back on the mattress. It was a move he used all the time when they practiced sparring. Except for this time, she didn't strike back with her fists or heels. 

Steve tugged at her belt, holsters, and knee pads. He worked quickly to dismantle her gear, then pulled her pants and underwear down her hips as Natasha unzipped her armor and shimmied out of its sleeves. Her pants got stuck on her boots, and he had to divert his attention to freeing her legs.

Natasha pushed his shirt up over his stomach, her hands sliding up his abs and chest as she lifted his shirt higher. He took a break from her pants to remove the shirt from over his head. She pushed down his sweatpants with her feet, springing him free. 

Once he freed her of her tactical gear, Steve hooked her under her knees, yanking her ass to the edge of the bed. Her head hit the mattress, a yelp caught in her throat.

She needed something solid. She needed to feel grounded. And by the force with which he entered her, she guessed he needed the same. She lifted her hips off the bed to meet his thrusts, and he maneuvered one of her legs up against his chest. 

She was fucking Steve Rogers. 

No. Steve Rogers was fucking _her._

_Oh god._

Steve's eyes stayed locked on hers, and she didn't dare look away, captivated by what she saw in him. Desire coiled in her lower belly as he filled her, over and over. Natasha couldn't decipher what he was saying at first, both of them lost in the sensations of his thrusts. She couldn't be sure if she was grunting like a wild animal or saying his name over and over like a prayer. All sense of everything outside of this moment flew out of her head. 

After a few moments, she was able to make out what he was saying as he drove into her.

"Not anywhere…" 

Tears sprung in Natasha's eyes again, and she met him with extra fervor. Felt like he was marking her. Sealing her promise as he buried himself inside of her. 

She came first, in a bright, unexpected flash as she clenched around him. His eyes widened before he took over, using her leg to maneuver her as she slackened underneath him. Then Steve roared, gritting his teeth with a final push, shuddering inside her. 

_Oh, fuck._

Her leg dropped back to his side, hanging off the edge of the bed. He extracted himself from her, collapsing next to her. For a few minutes, they both laid is complete silence, catching their breath and processing what just happened between them. 

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

Overloaded with emotions, Natasha burst into tears. 

Steve immediately curled up to her, pulling them further onto the center of the bed. She buried his face into his chest. He tried to calm her down, dropping kisses into her hair, which made it all so much worse. 

He held her for a few minutes before he managed to say anything between his own gasps. "Natasha, I'm sorry -- did I… Was it… I didn't..." 

She shook her head. "Don't you dare apologize," she interrupted him, looking up at him with reddened eyes. "Don't you dare." 

What she saw reflected back in his gaze shook her. The emotion in Steve's eyes - concern, grief, and remorse - seared their way into her heart. He was so fucking earnest all the time, and that vulnerability was gonna be the death of her.

Natasha pulled him in, so he was rolling back on top of her. She couldn't let him get too far - not with the dark mood she felt approaching on him. "Steve, listen to me. I needed this. You needed it too, right? I need you," she pleaded softly, her fingers locked into his hair. She pressed a kiss to his ear.

"I… Nat..." he stuttered, shifting his weight onto her. 

"Shhh," she soothed him, drawing her legs up around his hips to wrap herself around him completely. She hugged onto his neck, pulling him in. "I'm here. I'm right where I need to be. Are you? Stay with me, Steve. Please. Stay." 

Steve wasn't speaking, but what he couldn't say with words, he said with his body. That serum must have done wonders for his stamina, surprising Natasha as he was ready for a second round already. 

_He can do this all day._

Steve had her pinned in the small space, caging her against the bed. Tighter, more controlled movements as he moved deep inside her, his mouth hovering over hers. Natasha swiped her thumb across his lower lip, something she always wanted to do, and he picked up the pace. She pressed her forehead against his as he drove in, shallow movements that undid her. Undid both of them, as evidenced by their coming together. 

She needed a moment to catch her breath.

Steve and Natasha crawled from the wet spot they created, toward the middle of the bed. Steve settled onto his side, his head on the pillow, and she mirrored him. 

_Mom. Dad. You done fighting?_

Sam Wilson had always teased them mercilessly when they were on the run, staying in shitty hotels in third-world countries. He had jokingly called her mom, whether he was asking for permission to do something or whenever he was calling her out for her disagreements with Steve. 

The memory of their fallen friend, fresh at the forefront of her mind, spurred Natasha to lean forward, brushing her mouth against Steve's. 

Steve didn't respond at first, searching her face for something. He reached out, brushing her blonde hair back. He traced her cheek, her nose, her chin, which Natasha lifted at his touch. In the evening light, she thought she saw the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile before he lifted his head and kissed her. 

She had kissed him once before, as part of a mission - sort of. A ploy to divert attention away from themselves as they ran from Rumlow and HYDRA. That was years ago. It had haunted her, how soft his lips were, and how chaste he had been.

Natasha opened her mouth wider, kissing him deeper. Steve pulled her closer, dragging her across his body as he rolled on his back, and she crawled on top of him. 

Each round, their movements, in tandem, became less frantic and desperate. Slow, methodical, healing. The lights never came on as they continued from dusk into the dark night, intent on burying their grief in each other, giving in to the mournful ebb and flow that passed between them. 

A while later, Natasha laid in his arms, her back pressed against his chest as she was trying to do the math. She could tell Steve was still awake, only by how he ran his hand down her sides, tracing her skin. This was him giving her a break. While it was apparent he could keep going, and she was in peak physical condition for a former assassin, she was still without the benefits of that serum. She needed more recovery time. 

She was about to fall asleep. 

"I feel like I have to ask this because I need to know…" Natasha said, breaking the calm. 

"Hm?" he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. 

"Did I just take your virginity?" 

Steve laughed - not a big, joyous laugh, but a small, tender one. The puff against her ear was sealed with a light kiss. Then, he rolled her onto her stomach and climbed on top of her. A distant part of her mind wondered about his strength and endurance, as he aligned his hips with hers.

Then, Steve Rogers gave her a playful smack on the ass. 

"Rogers…" she breathed, partly surprised but mostly pleased. 

Natasha braced herself against the headboard, then gasped and grasped the sheets as he pushed himself into her from behind. He dropped a kiss on her shoulder blade before slowly proceeding. 

_Okay, Rogers. One more round…_

Whatever he needed - he could have all of her.

* * *

Outside, the sky began to shift from purple to pink as the sun rose in the east. Natasha Romanoff woke up more sore than she had been in a long time. She might consider that a win at any other time in her life. 

Steve Rogers was asleep next to her, a protective arm draped across her stomach. 

_Oh, right._

Natasha took the opportunity to study his face up close. He had those long lashes and lower lip that made her breath catch if she didn't protect herself. Over the last few years, she had watched his image transform from the clean-cut boy scout to this… mountain man. His beard may have disguised his pretty-boy looks, but he was still pretty with the handsome features of a fairy tale prince. But with the beard and long hair, he gave more huntsman vibes now. 

Natasha had grown quite fond of this look. Like he finally abandoned the poster boy mentality and was finally free. 

She was nowhere near a damsel or princess who needed saving, though. 

Though… maybe Steve was also the damsel in this situation. 

Natasha gave a soft smirk at that thought. She lifted a hand, grazing a knuckle along Steve's bearded jaw.

_Oh, Steve. How I wished this happened under different - happier - circumstances._

If it weren't for the stiffness in her hips and the raw, swollen feeling between her legs, she might have had a different wake-up call for him. Instead, she continued to stroke his face until he stirred. Steve opened his eyes, blinking before he focused them on her. 

"Hey, you," she greeted him. She pressed her mouth into a small smile. 

Steve may not have smiled back, but his expression softened, and his face looked more relaxed. He lifted a hand to brush some blonde hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Hey," he said, his voice thick with sleep and a touch of Brooklyn. 

Natasha wanted to stay here all day, hiding in the bubble they built. She wanted him to continue looking at her with wonder, figuring out ways to twist her body. Maybe break out that Brooklyn accent of his, when he wasn't so Captain.

But they didn't have all day, and she had to be able to walk out of here. 

She stopped touching his face, tucking her hands under her chin. "We need to get going. Rhodey should be loading up the jet for us to head to Atlanta." 

"What's in Atlanta?" 

She had mentioned it last night, but she knew he wasn't listening. "Fury left behind a transmitter in the form of an old school pager," she said. 

Steve gave the nod, rolling onto his back to scoot to the opposite edge of the bed. "Then, we get to Atlanta. Regroup there. Have you heard from S.H.I.E.L.D.?" 

And just like that, the bubble was burst. 

Natasha couldn't pinpoint what exactly triggered it, or her exact feeling in that moment, but it unexpectedly hurt like a punch she didn't see coming. And she didn't like that it hurt. She watched him cross the room toward the bathroom, with that great ass of his, and couldn't even enjoy it. 

The moment was gone. 

Natasha updated Steve on the news from yesterday as she gathered her gear. She kept her back to him to preserve her dignity as she got dressed. 

She had to head back to her quarters and get ready for departure.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff, showered and suited up in her tactical gear, walked alongside General Okoye. They crossed the dock toward the Quinjet that waited for them -- the same one Sam piloted when they arrived in Wakanda a few days ago, trying to find a way to save Vision. 

She ignored the clench in her chest as she remembered Sam. 

"Hopefully, this artifact left behind by your friend will provide a path forward?" Okoye asked. The proud general had been understandably shaken by the sudden loss of her King and Princess. But it seemed she had pulled herself together if only to offer stability for Wakanda in this challenging time where other governments collapsed.

"I hope so," Natasha said. "We'll be in touch, Okoye. Please - don't hesitate to reach out. We're all in this together." 

Okoye nodded. "Thank you, Natasha," the other woman said, before leaving her to face the wrath of James Rhodes.

Even in his battered War Machine suit, Rhodes was annoyed. Natasha could tell by the way his hands were on his hips as she stalked up the ramp of the Quinjet. 

"You too good to answer your phone? I've been trying to contact you," he started in on her.

"I was busy," she said, keeping her tone neutral.

"Busy, all right," Rhodes said, rolling his eyes. He didn't pry. At least, not intentionally. "Did you get a chance to talk to Cap?" 

The simple question stung a bit this morning. Natasha needed some time to process what happened, so she could be around them without feeling so raw - emotionally and physically.

Natasha looked out over the dock, surveying the muted activity. She glanced back at Rhodes. "He'll be here. Bruce and the others?" 

"Yeah - raccoon's named Rocket, by the way. He upgraded pilot functions to increase flight speed. Turns out, he's a bit of a genius. Should make the flight to Atlanta easy enough," Rhodes updated her. "And Thor's on board, but he hasn't said a word to anyone since Thanos." 

"Understandable," Natasha started, catching movement on the dock before falling silent. 

Rhodes turned to see what captured her attention. They both stood in respect, as a body draped in a shroud of Wakandan cloth was escorted onto the jet by a mix of surviving Kingsguard and the Dora Milaje.

Vision. 

With everyone turning to dust in front of them, they had to make sure Vision's body was put to rest. And the closest thing he had to home was… well, it was Wanda. But she wasn't… Anyway, the closest thing he had to home was the compound. Rhodes gave her shoulder a squeeze as they watched the Wakandans load their friend onto the jet for his final journey. 

The silence lingered before Rhodes focused on someone else on the dock. She followed his attention, and her heart froze. 

_Steve._

Steve Rogers was talking to both the Queen Mother Ramonda and General Okoye. Based on his body language, Natasha gathered he was paying his respects. He was standing tall, his head high - but not arrogant. More confident. Determined. Then he turned, meeting Natasha's gaze from across the dock. 

Steve started toward the jet in his blackened Captain America suit, and Natasha ducked into the jet, determined to get this jet in the air as soon as everyone was on board. 

"Whatever you guys talked about must've done the trick," Rhodes said after her, oblivious. 

* * *

The mood on the Quinjet en route to Atlanta was best described as somber. Steve Rogers stood next to Rhodey, who caught him up on existing reports, surveying a holographic map of the damage worldwide. 

Reports were still pouring in, and Steve knew this was least likely to be all of it. It would take days, weeks for a lot of the lines of communication to come back online in the chaos. 

Millions - _billions_ \- gone in the wake of Thanos.

In his periphery, Steve was aware of Natasha, quiet in the pilot seat. He hadn't had a chance to be alone with her since she left his quarters this morning, rather abruptly. He also didn't want to embarrass her in front of their teammates. In front of Banner, if that was still a thing to her. He wasn't sure, based on their reunion. 

About an hour into the flight, the conversation shifted with Rocket asking Banner and Rhodey what this planet was like. Thor was silent. Steve saw the opportunity to approach Nat. 

He stepped up to the helm, gripping the bar as he took his spot next to the pilot. 

"Nat," he said, staring out into the land underneath them, heading to the Atlantic Ocean. 

"The raccoon upgraded our flight systems," she reported, not looking at him. "We'll be in Atlanta in about eight hours. Arrival estimated at 1300 local time." 

Steve glanced back at the cabin, unsure of how to broach this topic. He felt like that little guy in Brooklyn who never knew what to say to a girl. Even after all this time. Even with Natasha. 

"I feel like you're upset with me," Steve admitted. Last night, he thought he had ruined their friendship when she broke down after the first time - heavy, real tears after they had sex. It shook him up bad, seeing her so raw and emotional. All he ever wanted to do was build her up, not break her down. He thought they made up for it by the time she fell asleep. But today she was avoiding him, which he knew was worse. He continued. "I didn't want you to think I was taking advantage of the situation… of you…" 

"I give you credit for a lot of things, Rogers," she whispered coldly. "Orchestrating genocide to get into my pants is not one of them." 

_Sucker-punched._

It must have been written all over his face because she immediately backtracked. "Steve, I'm sorry, I…" Natasha said, glancing over her shoulder, before returning her attention to the horizon. "It's fine. More than fine. We're okay." 

"Are we?" he asked, more gruff than intended. 

Natasha looked back at him, but her eyes never seemed to make it past his mouth. He wanted to be anywhere other than this jet to have this conversation properly. 

She licked her lips and continued. "We're adults - consenting adults - who have experienced something traumatic on a cosmic scale. If we didn't act out in some life-affirming way, can we really say we're human?" she tried to keep her tone light. 

He saw in her expression how affected she was. Either she was once better at concealing her emotions from him, or he had gotten better at reading her. Last night was as important to her as it was important to him. 

_Life-affirming._

"The answer was yes, by the way," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "To your question last night." 

Natasha looked up at him, her green eyes startled. She recovered her composure and shifted in her seat. "Hopefully, you weren't saving it for a special occasion," she said, matching his volume. 

He cleared his throat. "I wasn't saving it," he said. "Just… never got around to it. Other things always seemed to take priority." 

"Of course, they did." 

He leaned in. "I'm glad it was with you," he admitted before he lost the courage. 

Nat's face softened. She finally gave him a small smile. "Hopefully, it was better to share with a friend." 

_Friend._ Nat was more than that, more than a trusted ally. His _family._ He knew he was looking at her like a dumbstruck teenager, and that they had all the nightmarish reality around them, but she brought him back from the brink of hell last night. And he didn't know how to thank her for that. 

Instead, he asked, "Atlanta, 1300?"

Natasha gave the nod, so Steve left her to fly them home and returned to his seat. 

The raccoon Rocket and Rhodey were comparing notes on airships, most likely to keep their minds off what was happening. 

Thor glowered. 

Banner watched Steve. 

"What is it, Bruce?" the Captain asked. 

Banner leaned forward, dropping his volume. "I didn't realize, you and Nat…" 

"It's not like that," Steve quickly cut him off. 

Banner didn't say another word about it. 


	5. 02a.USA-NY.2020

_"Some stuff you leave there. Other stuff, you bring back. It’s our job to figure out how to carry it."_  
\- Sam Wilson

**_Upstate New York, July 2020  
The Avengers Facility_ **

* * *

The summer days were long. The sun was finally setting after 8:30 PM, disappearing behind them as they sat on the riverside dock overlooking the east bank. This spot behind the compound, butted up against the Hudson River, always seemed peaceful. The nighttime wildlife stirred, creating a natural white noise to fill the otherwise empty silence. 

Natasha sat next to him. Their feet hung off the edge of the dock, a cooler of beer behind them. The beers were mostly for Nat, though Steve wouldn't let her drink alone. The occasion was primarily because of Steve since it was his birthday.

Fourth of July. 

He was now 102 years old, technically. Nat won't let him forget. "The guy only carded you because he has to card everyone. Not because you look like a living relic. Like I dragged you out of some tomb." 

There were no fireworks this year. There haven't really been any fireworks anywhere since Thanos. Steve's 100th birthday had been a couple of months after the Snap. Natasha had remembered by the time his 101st rolled around and took him out for steak and potatoes at a small restaurant upriver in Kingston. But still - Steve had noticed the lack of fireworks the last couple years. Not because he thought there should be fireworks for America's - and his - birthday, but because he felt their absence was warranted. Justified.

This year, he wanted something quieter than a steak dinner. So they did what they did most nights: cooked dinner from a few boxes, ran a few routine protocols to make sure the facility was prepared, and then ate dinner out in the lounge. 

When Rhodey messaged him to wish him a good one, Steve made it clear they'd catch up soon - not tonight, though. He wanted to be truly alone with Natasha - not with her around other people.

Not that he was thinking about Natasha like that. 

Not much, anyway. 

Not all the time. 

After dinner, Nat had the idea to sit by the river. They had loaded beers into the cooler, and Steve carried it down, with her by his side. 

Natasha's hair was still growing out. The blonde she used to hide her tell-tale red hair was still prominent. Tonight, she wore it down where it skimmed her shoulders. She wore a faded t-shirt, denim cut-off shorts, and black sneakers. Her shirt looked like a faded black metal band t-shirt Tony had left behind (though that never stopped her from commandeering clothing before). Tony wasn't likely to get this shirt back, for many reasons. She had cut the sleeves off. He liked it, if only because she looked a bit more carefree.

The night was clear - brighter than what they were used to, even this far upriver. Steve brought up the lack of pollution once, and Natasha looked at him with daggers in her eyes. But he can't help but appreciate it, even if the reason made his heart hurt. 

They had settled on the dock, each cracking a beer open. Natasha held her bottle out to Steve. He lifted his and clinked it. 

"To Steve Rogers," she started.

"Stop," he said. 

"To the man of the century," Nat continued to tease him. "Make a wish." 

"I'm going to throw you into the Hudson." 

"Like I wouldn't take you down with me," she dared him, taking a long drink from her beer. 

His eyes lingered longer than they should. "I thought we were having a quiet night on the dock." 

She snorted. "Who said anything about quiet, Rogers?" 

Steve guessed there was no such promise. What he wanted was alone time with her, and she always surprised him when they were alone - with the depth of their conversations, the teasing, the insight. So maybe this is exactly what he signed up for when he wanted to stay in with her. 

When he didn't say anything, she narrowed her eyes at him. "If you don't make a wish, I'm going to make one for you." 

A few possibilities came to mind, but he liked the idea of her coming up with one for him. He flashed a dimple and swung his legs. " _That,_ I kind of want to hear," he said. 

"A birthday wish for Steve Rogers," she said, then hummed to herself. "That's easy--" 

By the tone of her voice, Steve knew where she was going, so he cut her off at the pass. "Might want to think of something else, because I'm sure I'd find a way to mess that up." 

Natasha rolled her eyes before she scanned the scenery in the fading light. He thought her silence meant he was in the clear, or that she was taking time to think of another wish. 

But then she asked, "Is that what happened with you and Sharon? Sam wouldn't say." 

Steve let out a laugh in disbelief. "You talked to Sam about it?" 

"Sam talked to _me_ about it, but then wouldn't elaborate. Or couldn't." Natasha explained. "And then we didn't see her that much when we were underground..." 

"Well, she was a federal agent - didn't want her risking her career for us more than she already had." 

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Her career, Steve? Really?" 

Steve shrugged, then figured he may as well try to explain. Natasha was always the one that saw through him. "When I found out she was Peggy's niece, that…" he trailed off. 

"Killed it?" she filled in. 

There wasn't really a better way to say it. "...yeah. I tried. I thought if anyone would understand, it would be her. But… it probably worked out the way it should have." 

Natasha flashed him a sympathetic smile. "Everyone, even with the best intentions, can have bad experiences when it comes to dating, Steve. It doesn't mean the other person is bad, or you're a bad person. It's just not a good fit or the right time. That shouldn't derail--" 

"Pretty sure that's not what derailed it," he said bluntly.

Natasha took a beat before continuing. "Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it. You're a catch, Rogers. You have a lot to offer someone. You - more than anyone - deserve happiness. You'll find someone someday. Maybe don't wait until the end of the world to take care of your needs." 

_Don't wait until the end of the world to take care of his needs._ Natasha wasn't being subtle, but he figured that was the intended effect. "I have a lot to offer, huh?" 

"You do. You're kind, honorable, earnest--" 

"That's not what you meant when you brought up my needs." 

Natasha didn't say anything right away - no snappy comeback, no shutdown. She studied him with those big green eyes, and he waited.

"We can talk about it if you want," she finally said. 

Wakanda, two years ago. Steve shook his head. They had never really talked about what happened between them that night beyond that brief conversation on the Quinjet to Atlanta. Other things took higher priority - like the skyrocketing numbers of those missing, Fury's transmitter, and the death of Thanos. After the trip to the Garden, everything else seemed so trivial.

"I don't know if it needs revisiting." 

"Ouch, Rogers," she said with a laugh, taking a swig from her bottle. 

"Not like that," he said. "I was prepared to never talk about it." 

"All right," she said, holding up a hand in defeat.

"Why? You got something to say?"

Steve could practically see the thoughts rolling around in her head like she was trying to decide which one to go with. "Nothing specific," Nat said, before giving a small shrug. "Mostly, I was curious how a man born in 1918 who was supposedly a virgin would know some of those moves." 

The moon - nearly full - was rising above the tree line. "Not all my internet searches are safe for work, Romanoff," he explained. 

Natasha smirked, picking at the beer label. "I kind of want to see your internet history now." 

"There's this thing called private browsing."

"Private browsing doesn't save your browser history," she said. "Doesn't mean I couldn't pull network logs." 

Steve felt the blood drain from his face. 

Natasha laughed, something hearty and pure. "Steve, I'm not going to look up your network activity. Your secrets are safe." 

They fell into another comfortable silence before Steve spoke up again. "I was terrified," he admitted.

"About me looking up your por--" 

"No, in Wakanda," he continued. He took a deep breath before clarifying. "I was terrified that I ruined us. This. Our friendship. And I don't know what I would've done if that were the case."

Natasha shook her head. "I told you then, Rogers. You can't get rid of me." She then mouthed the last part, as she raised the beer bottle to her lips: 

_Even if you tried._

Steve's heart clenched, watching her now. 

God, he was going to miss this place.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff wanted to make sure Steve Rogers had the evening he wanted for his birthday. It was one of the few occasions they celebrated, mostly because Natasha insisted. He was over a century old. Sure, she had done the math one day. Physically speaking, he was practically her age, unfrozen at the age she was when they first met. 

That was eight years ago. Natasha still remembered how sunny that day was, she met Steve and Bruce on the deck of the helicarrier. It seemed… lifetimes ago. 

Still - didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun with his age. 

Like teasing him for his viewing habits. He probably watched something so vanilla. It was endearing, Natasha decided. He could be so progressive in many ways, and then so traditional in others. It was a delight to be his friend. 

The weather was still warm, even though Steve wore khakis and a white button-down shirt. He had the sleeves rolled up, which was pretty casual for him outside of athletic wear. His hair was still long but brushed back. The summer breeze had other ideas, some locks falling to the side. 

Sometimes, she missed the beard. 

Over the last couple of years, her and Steve had fallen into a comfortable routine at the compound. They built connections for some sort of roster for the Avengers. It wasn't the same, but it at least gave them eyes and ears in the field and across the galaxy. 

Natasha noticed the sky settling into purple hues. She set her beer down on the dock, then dug out her phone. Earlier, when she saw what the moon was almost full that evening, she knew what she wanted to do for Steve's birthday.

"What about you?" he asked, watching her on her phone.

"One second," she said, tapping on her phone as she pulled up the lighting system for the compound. The perimeter lights went dark first, then the external lights of the compound itself, then the floodlights by the dock.

Once her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she caught Steve looking at her.

"Thought it'd be nice to get a better look at the moon and stars," she explained. Now, she was worried that the moon was too bright, and would block out the stars. But it was still a beautiful, clear evening. Steve seemed to appreciate that sort of thing. "This is your birthday present, by the way."

"You haven't answered the question," he said. 

"Which was?" she asked, smiling innocently. She recalled what Steve had said, but he wasn't articulating himself well. And she didn't want to reveal more than she had to. She was already feeling more exposed with him than she preferred.

"You think you'd ever settle down? Find someone?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Bruce flashed across her mind. Clint, too. 

Men - and women - had wanted to pin her down, keep her, but not in the way she wanted to be held. And then there were the ones who had her and didn't know what to do about it. 

She took a deep breath before answering. "I don't know. When I was younger... I used to think love was for children. An inconvenient complication that made the job impossible, or led to an early death."

Steve furrowed his brow. "Due to your training?" 

She nodded. 

"Has… has that changed?" he asked.

Natasha considered his question, before reclaiming her beer. "Yeah." 

"How?" 

He sounded genuinely curious, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe he was considering civilian life. Perhaps he was wondering if people like them could change. It didn't feel dangerous to answer truthfully. "I found strength in my friendships, rather than weakness - when my friends took risks on me. Did you know Fury assigned Clint to eliminate me before I was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D.?" 

"...I saw the file." 

"He had a kill order. I was a monster back then. But he saw this weapon… saw a young woman… and my skills… and made a different call."

Steve watched her before looking down at the bottle in his hand. "I'm glad he did," he said. If he wanted to ask about Clint, he didn't say anything. Natasha wasn't ready to talk about what she had found about her friend anyway. 

"Fury also took a liking to me," she admitted. "He was used to raising eyebrows, but recruiting an ex-KGB operative was probably one of his riskier moves." 

"I bet you raised a few eyebrows yourself," Steve said with a small smirk. 

"I think everyone was too scared of me to say anything," Natasha said. 

"Scared, maybe. Intimidated, definitely," Steve said, and they both chuckled. 

Her grin softened. "You took a risk on me, too." 

Steve went to wave it off, the way he did whenever he was thanked for being a decent human being. She snatched his hand to stop the dismissive gesture. 

"I'm serious. Your trust means the world to me - I need you to know," she insisted. Natasha locked onto his blue eyes in the moonlight, and she stared into them until Steve nodded. 

"All right," he said quietly. Steve turned his hand up, cuffing his to hers. He searched her face before clearing his throat. "Can I make a promise to you? Here and now?"

The timing was odd, and her heart was pounding, but she wanted to hear it. The corner of her mouth quirked upward, and she nodded. "What do you have for me, Rogers?" 

He gave her hand a squeeze, licked his lips. "You can't get rid of me, Natasha. I'm not going anywhere." 

_Ah._ The same vow Natasha had made him as he fell apart in Wakanda. She smiled in the dark. "Copycat," she said.

"Well, you were so eloquent at the time." 

Now, who was blushing? Natasha turned to look out over the river, reflecting the night sky. 

Steve ran the pad of his thumb along the back of her hand. "I'm moving," he said quietly. 

Her face dropped. "...what?" 

"To Brooklyn. I wasn't sure how to tell you before." 

She felt the air dash out of her lungs. She jerked her hand back. What was Steve saying? She recognized the words, but he blindsided her. "I thought you said you weren't going anywhere. You _just promised--_ " 

"Just because I'm moving to Brooklyn, doesn't mean I'm leaving you," he insisted, urgency rising in his voice. 

"Kinda feels like you are," she shot back.

Steve took a deep breath, looking out over the river like he was searching for ways to justify his news. "When I first met Sam, he was working in a V.A. He ran a support group for soldiers who were learning to deal with their trauma after returning home..." he started. "Everyone is suffering, Natasha. Not just us. I can't do everything, can't be everywhere. But what I can do is help a little bit. I can help survivors cope with their loss, one person at a time. The way Sam did. And I thought no better place to start than my old neighborhood." 

Natasha was grateful she turned the lights off on the compound grounds. She felt the tears spring in her eyes but didn't want to cry. She didn't want to somehow manipulate Steve into feeling bad for making a decision. For clearly honoring his friend and returning to his old neighborhood. For connecting with his roots. 

She needed a moment to regain her composure. 

If Steve noticed she was fighting back her emotions, he didn't say anything. She finished off her beer and took a shaky breath. Natasha tried to deflect, tried to neutralize her reaction. "Well, don't go filling your schedule. Maybe you can finally have time for a girl." 

"Depends," he said softly, with cautious amusement. "You gonna find me a date?"

"Didn't seem to work out before," Natasha said, hearing her emotion break and spill into her words. A hot tear sliced down her cheek before she could stop it, then another. 

She hated this.

Steve didn't let her get away this time. "Nat, come here." 

"No," she said. Then her composure crumbled. 

Steve scooted closer to her on the dock edge, wrapping both arms around her. He hugged her to him, gently rocking. He held her while she cried, his cheek on the top of her head. 

"I'm sorry to do this, Natasha." 

"Don't apologize." 

He wasn't sorry. 

He didn't need to be sorry. 

That was the frustrating part. Natasha understood him, but she couldn't stop her reaction. Steve deserved everything - he deserved to have a place in Brooklyn, deserved a regular life, deserved to try and find happiness. And if he could feel useful during that, too, she wanted that for him. But she still could hate it, as it took him away from her. 

After a moment, he said into her hair, "You could leave too. Find a place, a new home, have a normal life." 

The timbre of his voice was like a siren's call. But that wasn't an answer for her. She pushed back and shook her head. "Someone needs to stay," she said, trying to catch her breath. She wiped the tears with the back of her hands, not ready to look at him. 

"It doesn't have to be you," Steve said. 

Everyone else left. Thor left practically as soon as they returned to Earth. Bruce, shortly after Thor. Even Tony after his rescue. Clint never came back. And now Steve was leaving, too. Someone needed to be here. So it had to be her. 

"This is my home, Steve," she said, swallowing her sadness. "I'm not leaving." 

Natasha had been trained to find _home_ \- like _love_ , like _children_ \- as another pointless, fatal distraction. But over the course of her tenure as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and Avenger, finding a new purpose in life... she realized home was so much more. Home was where it hurt - where it was _okay_ to hurt. So the compound was home now until the pain faded, and she could walk away.

Every day, she was reminded by her friends, who were gone. She didn't think she would be leaving any time soon. 

She still had a lot of hurt left.

Steve took a deep breath, sitting back until he just had an arm around her shoulders. "You can always call on me," he said, his voice hoarse. 

Natasha finally looked up at him. In the moonlight, she noticed his tears, too. The stoic kind, mostly in his eyes. 

Over the last four or so years, they had been by each other's side. How would Natasha operate without him? How could she ever put her gratitude, her feelings about what he meant to her into words?

Nat leaned over, planting a lingering kiss on his cheek. Steve turned his head slightly, surprised by the sudden gesture. She settled against him, resting her head on his shoulder. 

"Happy Birthday, Steve," she whispered, not saying what she could to assuage his fears: 

_I'll be okay without you._

Because it wasn't true. At least, not right now. And Natasha couldn't lie to him at this moment. 

She heard him swallow in the quiet of the night. 

"Thank you, 'Tasha," Steve muttered. 

She was going to miss him.


	6. 07b.USA-NJ.1970.2

_"As long as we have the stones, Cap, we can bring her back. Isn't that right?"_  
\- Thor

**_New Jersey, 1970  
Camp Lehigh - Director Margaret Carter's Office_ **

* * *

_ You're talking about her as if she's already gone, Steve. What happened? _

Natasha Romanoff had become a beacon in Steve Rogers's life, whenever he needed guidance through the dark and uncertain times. She had provided him with intel on Winter Soldier, so he could find Bucky. She had stayed behind to comfort him after Peggy's funeral, despite their disagreement on the Sokovian Accords. She had joined him, Sam, and Wanda after they went underground. She had stuck by his side in Wakanda when he wanted to give up. She had sat next to him when they went after Thanos, sharing their first trip to space.

Natasha had carried the torch of the Avengers in those five years after Thanos' Snap. She had been so excited about time travel. More accurately, she had been excited to have the  _ chance _ to bring everyone back. She had pulled some semblance of normal back together - for both of them - as the universe laid in ruins.

Steve told Peggy a summary of what happened, mostly focusing on Nat's work after the Snap. He tried to be vague about things like names and places if only to protect Peggy from the obligation to act.

So what happened to Natasha?

"She died."

Feeling Peggy's eyes on him, he cleared his throat and continued. "This mission I'm on to return the stones finishes the work she started, the work she gave her life for."

The way Peggy's eyes glistened after listening to Steve's story, though, told him some of his emotions must have seeped through. "You have regrets?"

Many, but he knew that wasn't what Peggy was really asking. "That it wasn't me with her on that assignment. If we had known... maybe it's a good thing we didn't know. I would not have been able to send anyone there, much less her." 

"If you had gone, would you have been able to stop her?" 

If Clint wasn't able to reason with Nat... If he wasn't able to stop her… "I don't know. But I would have done everything in my power for it to be not her."

"Yes, I know something of what that feels like," Peggy said quietly, then licked her red lips in thought. "Perhaps... in returning the stones, you can recover what you've lost." 

_ It can't be undone. Or at least, that's what the red floating guy had to say.  _

Clint's words had haunted him since they gathered by the Hudson to grieve Natasha. Steve had tried not to dwell on what it meant for his future, to channel that anger and grief into the fight. 

"The exchange was final," Steve explained. 

"Nothing is ever final. I never thought I would see you again. Yet here you are, breaking into my office. From the future." 

Steve took a deep breath, keeping a leash on his composure. He couldn't entertain the idea before they brought everyone back. "I can't undo her sacrifice," he said, his voice thick. 

"I'm not saying undo it," Peggy said. "I'm saying nothing is impossible." 

Her words sunk in, igniting a dangerous spark of hope in his heart. Steve had saved the Soul Stone for last, unsure what was waiting for him on Vormir. Part of him didn't want to return it, to spare anyone from having to get it. Another part of him wanted to hold onto it, to keep part of Natasha with him. But maybe...

"What about respecting the dignity of her choice?"

Peggy watched him, standing up from her perch on the desk. "You haven't done everything you could yet. In case you've forgotten, may I remind you that you are Captain Steve Rogers. I have seen what you are capable of. When lesser men have told you no, you did not stand down. You stood up to them and said ' _we will see_.'"

Before Steve could stop himself, he touched her face and drew closer to her. Steve knew he shouldn't be touching another man's wife, shouldn't think about kissing her - even if it was in gratitude. Even it was goodbye. Peggy had always believed in him, even when he felt lost. He had to end this before he did something he'd regret. 

He cleared his throat. "I love you," he said, running the pad of his thumb against Peggy's cheek. This woman would always be his first love, but she wasn't his last. "Part of me will always love you, Peggy Carter." 

Peggy's eyes widened at his declaration, and then she smiled sympathetically. "I'll always love you, too, Steve," she murmured, leaning into his hand. She took a deep breath. "And I am so very happy you get a chance to live your life." 

Wasn't that her one regret? And could he even say he was really living it? He knew he could have so much more.

Steve nodded and took a step back, putting distance between them. He activated the time-space GPS, his quantum suit immediately expanding over his blue uniform. 

She blinked, stunned at the sudden appearance of the pale suit. "Wait - I have something for you."

Something for him? It was 1970.

Peggy left him in the office, and Steve watched her cross the office floor. A staff member handed her a package, and she turned back to him with a large disc in her hands. 

_ Oh. _

"I couldn't help but notice you didn't have your shield. I thought maybe you'd need something a bit more familiar in your mission," Peggy said, after stepping back into her office. She set the package on her desk, unwrapping it and revealing what Steve knew to be inside. 

Then, she held the vibranium shield out to Steve.

Steve had lost his shield on the battlefield, broken down by Thanos himself. It had kept him alive long enough to keep fighting, but his shield was gone. He couldn't accept this one in its place. "Peggy, I can't. It's not--" 

"Take it. It was meant to be used, not gathering dust in storage. Howard made it for you," she insisted. "Think of it as a thank you for returning the stone from the Tesseract, if you must." 

Tony flashed across his mind. The memory of his friend, and what Peggy said that mirrored so much of Tony, was what convinced him. He took the shield in both hands. "All right," Steve said, humbled.

Peggy touched his arm. "Promise me that you won't hesitate if you do get a second chance. Life is short, for most of us. And whether it's her or someone else, I hope you find a love you deserve." 

Steve studied her face one last time and nodded. He flashed her a dimple. "I promise." 

Peggy seemed to relax. Steve swung the shield over his head in a swift move, securely fixing it between his shoulders. He picked up the case with the remaining stones. 

"Your friend - what was her name?" 

Of course, Peggy had noticed Steve didn't mention a name. He smirked. He also knew that she was in the thick of the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union and that his answer would be either a great shock or suspicious. 

He appreciated the distraction from his frantic, hopeful thoughts. And the fact that Peggy seemed to be stalling. 

"Natasha Romanoff," he admitted. Then, as an answer to the questioning look Peggy gave him, he added, "She's Russian. And a spy. Former KGB. I think you'd like her." 

Her expression fell flat. "I hope you're not telling me we fall to the USSR."

"No," Steve said, smiling softly. "She defected." 

"Thank goodness for small miracles," Peggy said, her thoughts drifting elsewhere. She came back to him. "Goodbye, Steve. And good luck." 

"Bye, Peggy. I meant what I said," Steve told her, keeping his eyes on her as he queued up the coordinates for his next stop. "All of it." 

She was smiling softly at him when he left, disappearing back into the quantum realm.

Next stop - Morag.


	7. 08b.Space.2014.1

_“I’m not looking for forgiveness. And I’m way past asking permission.”_  
\- Steve Rogers

**_Space, 2014_ **  
**_Morag_ **

* * *

The Power Stone was successfully in place for Quill to retrieve. Steve Rogers had his shield on his back and the case with the final stone by his side. 

But he knew he already messed up once he looked down at the two vials of Pym Particles in his gloved hand. 

Steve technically had enough for two more time jumps - one to Vormir to return to the Soul Stone, and one back to 2023. The branches would be clipped. His mission would be complete.

But… 

_ Perhaps in returning the stones, you can recover what you've lost. _

Peggy's words bounced around in his head. What if returning the Soul Stone granted him the ability to bring Nat back home? What if he could make it work, despite Barton telling them it was impossible? 

Steve couldn't be sure she would have a vial on her. He should have asked Peggy for an extra side of Pym Particles to go along with his shield. He didn't think to swipe anymore in his excitement to get to Morag. 

With the commotion in the Temple behind him, Steve quickly scoured the landscape for any sort of transport. The original Time Heist team had come with a ship, rather than jumping directly into the location sight unseen. He didn't want to dwell on how Nat had flown to Vormir with Barton, but it was a very possible solution to his problem. 

Steve spotted a ship with dirty, orange paint and a blue mark over the crest of some rock formation. The counterstrike team was already waiting for Quill, but they were met with a shield instead. The vibranium shield bounced off the wing of the ship, striking one-two of them in the face before they even saw their assailant. 

Steve dashed toward the ship, snatching his shield out of the air. He hoisted himself up over the hull of the ship, kicking one of them off. 

The firefight from the Temple grew louder - and closer. Taking down these soldiers was Steve's immediate concern, but then he saw the man he assumed to be Quill race toward the ship. 

Quill opened fire on the ones next to him, and Steve ducked behind his shield before taking out a knee-cap of the last guy on the ship. 

"...Move!" 

"I need a ride off this planet," Steve insisted, sticking his boot to block the closure of the windshield.

"Who the hell are you?" 

"Steve--" he started, pausing to smash his shield against the face of one of the troops that reached the ship. "Rogers. I'm Steve Rogers." 

Quill looked like he took two seconds to consider it, saw the shield, and saw that Steve was fighting the guys who were after him. "Yeah, whatever, man. In or out - I'm getting off this rock!"

Steve jumped into the cockpit, and Quill sealed the ship. Steve scrambled to get seated, securing himself for take-off. 

"--hold on!" Quill grunted.

Apparently, Steve was the only one to buckle his seat belt. The ship got caught by a massive geyser and spun out rapidly. Quill went flying. It knocked off the engines offline and plummeted to the surface. Steve saw which lever Quill reached for, barely outside of his reach. He lunged for it from his seat, pushing it.

Gravity and the ship returned to normal. No one was tailing them, and Quill collapsed where he was.

"Peter?" 

Steve turned on his heel to find a beautiful woman pop out and pull herself up from the lower deck. Pink skin. Bedhead. A thin shirt. Legs for days. 

Steve averted his eyes when she gasped, tugging her t-shirt lower to cover herself in front of the stranger. 

"Oh, shit, uh…. Um…" Quill said, snapping his fingers.

Steve stared at him, incredulous. Did Quill forget this girl's name? Seriously?

"...Bereet," she offered, annoyed. 

"Bereet! Look, I'm gonna be totally honest with you. I forgot you were here." 

* * *

**Xandar**

* * *

The rest of the flight to Xandar was more or less what Steve expected. Quill and Bereet retired below, while Steve stayed seated on the flight deck. He stared at the old familiar compass, replaying what happened with Peggy, thinking over what waited for him on Vormir. 

A couple of jumps and a swerve around more than one sun, and the planet Xandar was in view. 

The landing was much smoother than what Steve would have expected from the ship.

By the time the  _ Milano _ landed, Bereet had cleaned herself up, and Quill managed to escort her back to her place. After that, Quill offered Steve some advice about acquiring a rental ship or pod. He even pointed Steve in the direction of some travel agency, thanking him for knocking those guys out on Morag, and wished him a good one. 

Steve Rogers wasn't going to rent a ship. He was gonna wait for one. 

Once Quill was out of view, Steve pulled out a keycard he swiped from the  _ Milano _ when the thief wasn't looking. Steve wouldn't take the ship immediately, in case Quill came back in the next few minutes. But Steve remembered what Rocket and Nebula had reported regarding the discovery of the Power Stone and the Guardians' fateful meeting on Xandar. If Steve remembered correctly, he would just have to wait it out.

He didn't have to wait long. 

From a distance, Steve watched Quill exit the pawnshop. Then the fray over the orb - including Rocket and a much older version of Groot - erupted in the public square. Luckily, the arrest was very much a spectacle. The distraction he needed. 

That was Steve's signal. 

He raced across the city before the local police noticed him or impounded Quill's ship. He made it, triggering the windshield to open. He crawled into the ship, dropping into the pilot's seat. 

Steve had observed Quill using the navigational equipment, enough to get her airborne. Piloting the ship wasn't the issue, though. He had the time coordinates for Vormir, but not necessarily the space coordinates. That was something that was programmed for Nat and Barton.

He punched a few buttons and yelled at the controls until voice command was accidentally activated, asking for the Captain to confirm the flight path. On the holo screen, an oceanic planet rotated with the designation  _ VORMIR. _

_ You're taking all the stupid with you. _

If this all went wrong, Steve reminded himself, he could still jump there using the quantum realm to return the final Infinity Stone and seal off this timeline. 

But he was also stupid enough to trust his instincts... that this would work. That he would have enough Pym Particles in case Nat's vial was somehow compromised. That he could somehow rescue her. 

The adrenaline that pumped through his veins as the ship locked onto the planet's coordinates, and high-tailed it out of Xandarian airspace.

* * *

**Vormir**

* * *

The descent into Vormir's atmosphere sent a creeping chill through Steve's bones. Hidden in the shadow of an eclipsed star, the eerie light over sand dunes, bodies of water, and mountains. 

He landed near some mountains. Steve unlatched the mechanism, springing the case open. The Soul Stone was the final stone inside, an orange glow radiating from it. He had watched how others handled the other Stones, knew of their power. But this one was different. Barton had held it in his hand, he told them after the Time Heist. The man woke up with it loose in his fist, and without Natasha.

Steve supposed that's what made the stone more dangerous than the others. It felt like an everyday item. No magic, no charge. Just something people were killed over.

He plucked the stone out of the case and pocketed it onto a cartridge on his belt. He attached the shield behind his back, then disembarked the _Milano._

Steve wasn't sure what waited for him, or what it would take to return the stone. He headed to the mountain in the distance with the two pillars. His ascent dictated by a carved path, zigzagging up jagged rock formations. 

He knew less about how to make an exchange work - the stone, for Nat. He ran through scenarios as he put one foot after the other, climbing the mountain. 

At the entrance of the peak, a figure cloaked in robes approached him. His robes licked the air, like fire or smoke. The figure barely lifted his head, revealing a familiar, garish bone structure underneath. 

"Welcome, Steven, Son of Sarah--" 

_ Red floating guy.  _

Son of a bitch.

Steve should have known. Or, more accurately, he felt like he should have known. The one standing between him and the edge of life - between him and what he wanted - was the Red Skull. 

It seemed Red Skull was surprised to see him, too. The temperature dropped further. "Captain Rogers, you are too late." 

"What do you mean?" 

"The Soul Stone has been claimed." 

"Yeah, and I'm here to return it." 

The Red Skull watched him from underneath the cloak. "Not possible." 

"Well, I have it, and I'm here. So I think we should revisit your definition of possible." 

The Red Skull said nothing for a long time as he studied Steve. "Come with me," the other man said, turning to shepherd Steve the rest of the way. 

They were mostly silent as they walked the rest of the path. 

"What are you doing here?" Steve finally asked.

"I was banished from Earth for my crimes against the Stones," the Red Skull explained. "Now, I am cursed to guide all who seek the Soul Stone. I do not normally see this many people in one day." 

"Natasha and Clint were here," Steve said. 

"Yes. Moments ago," the Red Skull confirmed. 

"Tell me more about this exchange for her life." 

The other man paused, glancing back at him. "Everlasting. Unchangeable." 

"Sure, but what were the conditions?" Steve asked, trying to mask his annoyance. 

"To ensure those who seek the stone understand its power, it demands a sacrifice. A soul for a soul, as it were. You knew the Daughter of Ivan and Son of Edith?" 

Steve didn't answer. He didn't want to dwell on the conversation between Clint and Natasha, what the Red Skull may have witnessed, and how they came to that decision that it was going to be Nat. It was a decision Clint didn't agree with, so he can only imagine how Nat persuaded him. 

They came to a clearing amid the towering columns. Steve stepped to the edge, his eyes searched the horizon before dropping down to the abyss below.  _ A dominion of death, _ Nebula had told them during their planning session. 

This was what Natasha saw before she gave her life. This beautiful place, corrupted.

"So you must lose who you love the most to get the stone. I give the stone back, I get back who I love right? That's how this works?" he asked as his Brooklyn accent leaked into his frustrated words. 

"I did not expect you to be an ignorant fool, Captain Rogers." 

"And you're not in charge, Red Skull," Steve countered. "I don't buy it being everlasting." 

Red Skull was the lackey. He wasn't the one in charge behind the operations. Steve wasn't sure who - or what - was in charge. But it wasn't this guy. 

"The Soul Stone is demanding - the exchange is everlasting. You cannot make demands, much less when you have nothing to offer," the Red Skull chattered behind him. 

_ When lesser men have told you no, you did not stand down-- _

Steve shifted his gaze and studied the ceremonial carvings, taking in the layout of the platform between the two towers. All marks led over the edge. Steve could see it now, plain as day. This mountain had been twisted, forced to become an altar made for sacrificing life. 

_ \--You stood up to them and said, 'we will see.' _

"If it wants a soul," Steve said, his chest heaving. Seeing this place, knowing she was here... "It can have a soul." 

The Red Skull shook his head. "Your action here will not replace--" 

"You don't know that!" Steve roared. 

The Red Skull was not admonished. He stared blankly at Steve, his robes floating around him. "I recall you were once on the cusp of godhood," the Red Skull eventually said, faint amusement lacing his message. "The hubris within your soul has shown how far you have fallen from your country's beloved flag. I wish I had witnessed the moment you realized that your nation is nothing and that the power possessed by the Stones is everything."

Steve couldn't argue with him there. In the end, the destruction brought up by the use of the Stones trumped any allegiance. 

However, Steve also noticed that the Red Skull wasn't beyond being provoked and reacting. Strangely, that gave Steve hope. Johann Schmidt wasn't the mouthpiece and didn't know what indeed was going on here. The man was upholding a duty, but someone wasn't giving him intel other than the orders to stay put. 

Steve took measured steps away from the edge, along the rivets in the rockface. He pulled out the compass but didn't open it. Truth was, he already knew what he had to do. He had jumped out of planes, dove into oceans, or caught his fall with his shield. But this… was much more enormous than any jump before. 

He opened the cartridge on his belt and extracted the Soul Stone, holding it in his palm. The stone pulsed, seemingly relaxed. 

Steve closed his fist, slipped the compass back into its place. He tightened the straps on his shield.

He turned to stare down the path between the two monuments. With his fists hanging by his side, his eyes slid closed. He centered himself, calling on his memories in one last prayer. 

Sam by his hospital bed. 

Bucky offering an outstretched hand. 

Wanda and Vision's love. 

Tony's shattered expression. 

The heft of Peggy's casket. 

His mother's best Sunday dress and a simple rosary. 

And Natasha. 

Always Natasha, with the enigmatic smile.

Steve opened his eyes, then took off running. He kept a tight grip on the Soul Stone. He sprinted past the Red Skull. Then, summoning all his courage and enough stupidity, he launched himself into the air over the edge. 

In mid-air, his body contorted against his will like a hook grabbed him by the waist to yank him under. The pull of the altar below, whether mystical or gravitational, broke apart his practiced form, pulling him down, down,  _ down-- _

Steve Rogers struck the ground without the protection of his shield, with a bright flash of a meteor striking the surface of a planet.

The haze faded, and the dust settled. No crater. His shield rolled away, spinning before it finally dropped with a vibranium hum. Clouds brewed above, cloaking his final moment from the stars. 

His head fell to the side, and he blankly stared out over the expanse of the altar. He felt whatever was left in him, fading out, shutting down. 

The Soul Stone rolled from his slackened grasp, dropping onto the surface next to his hand. It grew brighter instantly, almost melting into the rock beneath him-- 

Them. 

_ Your friend - what was her name? _

A flutter of a lock of hair, red dipped in blonde. Not too far away. _No._ Down, like him.  _ She was just... here... _

Unable to pull himself to her. Unable to utter her name as the last thing on his lips. 

...Natasha.

Branches clipped. 

Mission complete. 

End of the line. 

Her name…

…tasha...

Then everything went--


	8. 09b.Unknown.0000

_"Soul holds a special place among the Infinity Stones. You might say, it has a certain wisdom."_  
\- Red Skull

**The Way Station**

* * *

An amber haze surrounded Steve Rogers as he got his bearings. The setting seemed incomplete, but he couldn't place why. The light was setting over the horizon - all horizons at once.

He must have been standing on a flight deck of a helicarrier because a Quinjet was parked nearby. But the flight deck… it was covered in shallow water.

"Hey, you." 

His heart froze in his chest. He carefully turned toward the familiar, raspy voice. 

Curly red bob, motorcycle jacket. Dark jeans, red top. Gun casually holstered to her thigh. 

_Natasha._

Steve recognized this version of her immediately. 

This was how she had looked when he first met her before joining the Avengers. 

This was the Natasha he saw from a distance when he returned the Mind Stone to New York 2012.

On the day they met, they had chatted on the deck of a helicarrier before take-off. He had thought she was beautiful, immediately reminiscent of a particular love of his life. A woman who had to carve out her spot in S.H.I.E.L.D. He wouldn't know in what way until working with her. 

And then she had teased him about vintage trading cards. 

Hell, if he was honest with himself, Steve had known Natasha Romanoff was his kind of woman since the invasion on New York, from the moment she had asked him for a boost so she could catch a ride on the back of some Chitauri.

Natasha stood in the shadow of the jet. A smile played on her lips. "Took you long enough." 

"Nat…?" 

She nodded. "Been waiting a long time, soldier. I was starting to wonder if I was worth it." 

Steve treaded the shallow water, crossing the distance to her. They stood facing each other for a long moment. The amber light had changed the hue of her eyes. A sinking feeling pulled at his chest.

"Did everyone come home?" she asked, her gaze focused on his mouth. 

"Yeah," he said, something holding him back from taking her into his arms. "Everyone but you." 

She lifted her eyes, looking up with him in wonder. "Was it worth it?" 

This wasn't right. 

Natasha should have some snappy comeback. Call him Rogers. Make a joke about his age. She wouldn't think of him as a soldier. And while she might question the morality of her past or call herself a monster, Steve couldn't imagine Natasha not finding herself valuable. 

He searched her face for the answers and found himself staring at a stranger wearing her face.

A spark of recognition in her eyes. Not Natasha, but whoever this was in her form. 

"Who are you?" 

"Don't be rude, Steven Son of Sarah," she said, then stepped out of his reach. She smiled at him over her shoulder, then ran a hand along the underside of the jet as she sauntered away. 

Orange water rushed in, obscuring the scene, overtaking him.

* * *

A new scene. No more Quinjet. In its place, a vending machine. 

Natasha was there again. A different Natasha. Now he knew it wasn't her. Straight orange-red hair, smokey eye, striped gray hoodie. From the day in the mall, before they drove to New Jersey in a hot-wired truck. 

Steve remembered noticing the flecks of hazel in her eyes for the first time. He remembered how she had looked at him differently, too. She had seen him as no one else had in years… if ever. She wasn't scared to assert herself into his personal life. She had no political agenda for him. She had treated him not as some soldier, or a job, but as a person - as a man.

"Not many can look beyond what they want to see. You must know Natasha Daughter of Ivan well," the entity said, standing in front of Steve. It tilted its head to the side, popping some bubblegum. "Did you love her?"

Was this some sort of test?

"I don't know," Steve admitted, erring on the side of caution. He had never said the words aloud, but he wondered if it were true. With Nat, he had found his feelings hard to admit without having the chance to try. "We were busy." 

It huffed, then smirked. A hint of Natasha in its expression. "Honesty. How refreshing," it said. 

"I'm always honest," Steve said, distantly, swallowing down the burn of déjà vu. 

"Then why are you here? You once had all the Infinity Stones, and now you have none. You have no sacrifice and no need to sacrifice yourself to return what was rightfully earned. Yet here you are, taking up my time. What can be your purpose here?" 

The Not-Nat chattered a lot, and he was trying to focus despite the dizzying metaphysical aura of this place... despite the dizzying nature of what it was saying. 

Steve fell, dropping hard onto one knee, trying to steady himself against the flooded ground.

"And remember, you're always honest…" it whispered, kneeling next to him in a fluid motion.

"We don't trade lives," he said through labored breathing. 

The Not-Nat studied him, peered into his face like it was looking through his soul. Maybe that was why he felt like shit. What was it doing to him? 

"Everyone trades lives, Steven. They trade a loved one to gain power over the souls of all creatures, living or dead. That is what the Soul Stone does. That power is what people trade lives for." 

"Not…" he started, trying to keep himself together. "Not… true…" 

"You're a terrible liar," it said, turning away from him. The entity sounded too much like Natasha that day when she had confronted him about Fury being in his apartment. 

Steve winced, collapsing onto the ground and landing face-first into the water. 

* * *

Another reset. Another Natasha. At least he was standing on his own two feet again. 

This time, the entity wore her long auburn hair, tinged with the blonde hair Nat had never colored over, never cut off. Minimal make-up. Green army jacket and black turtleneck. The Not-Nat sat at the table, leaning back in her seat with both her feet propped on the table ledge. It looked vulnerable, with a weight of the world on borrowed shoulders. 

Steve's heart dropped. The disguise was… gut-wrenching. This was _his_ Nat if any Natasha could be his. From those lonely years spent in the compound after the Snap, before she sacrificed herself for the Soul Stone. 

He surveyed his surroundings again, finding the glassy water extended beyond the orange horizon. He had a horrible suspicion of what was going on here, and he needed to play this right.

Steve turned back to the entity, regarding it warily as he approached the table. 

It started speaking before he sat down. "You say you don't trade lives, but you do. Not in the way where you are giving them to me. You want to take them from me," it said, the tone reminiscent of the older, tired, raw Natasha he loved. 

Yeah. _Loved._ The emotion was easy to pin to this iteration of Natasha. He should've told her before.

He licked his lips and thought about his approach. "I'm returning the Soul Stone to its place on Vormir - that's it. That's all. I had to do this anyway to stop the timeline from branching." 

"Ah, so you want a reward for your valiant errand," it said. "Still considered an exchange, by the way." 

Steve slid into a chair across from the entity, eyeing it. "I didn't come here with any expectations. I didn't dare hope for the opportunity that I could bring her back. Not until I was almost through returning the other Infinity Stones." 

The Not-Nat looked at him with such compassion that Steve almost forgot it wasn't Natasha. Its eyes were glossy with tears. "Others have tried this, Steven. You're hardly the only one who would undo what has already been done. It's the nature of the soul." 

"I know," Steve said, drumming his fingers on the table. The table was solid. The chair he was sitting in felt real. "It's hard to let go of the ones we love." 

"She loved you," the entity admitted. "And she was hurt every time you abandoned yourself. She wanted freedom for you, Steven Son of Sarah. She believed in you more than anything on that blue planet, except maybe death." 

Steve steeled himself against that information, not wanting to take it to heart. The entity already proved that it was capable of deceit. 

It picked up its feet off the table and sat forward, leaning over the table. "What would you do if I released her to you?" it asked, barely above a whisper. 

"Take her home to her family and friends. Let her see what her death--" Steve stopped to correct himself. "What _she_ accomplished." 

The Not-Nat let out a derisive snort, falling back against its chair. "What the _Stones_ accomplished," it corrected him, then drove daggers into Steve's heart. " _Her death_ accomplished _nothing_. _She_ accomplished _nothing_. All you and yours did was entirely derivative. You would've done nothing, been nothing if it weren't for me and mine."

Yeah, the situation was as he feared.

_The Soul Stone demands a sacrifice._

An inanimate object wouldn't be able to make demands. So if the Soul Stone is unique among the Infinity Stones, Steve had to accept that he was dealing with a sentient rock from the beginning of existence. 

How the hell did he reason with an Infinity Stone? 

Maybe logic wasn't the right approach. 

"Her death brought us you," he tried to appeal to it. 

It smiled, seeming almost charmed by the idea, before sweeping its arm in a dramatic arc. The papers on the table fluttered orange, wiping the scene.

* * *

Steve stared down at the unmade bed in the middle of the world. He recognized it from the hours with Natasha. His bed in the Citadel - their bed. Back in Wakanda. 

A soft gasp. 

_No._

He spun toward her, away from the bed - no, not _her._ He had to remember this fact. He had to keep telling himself. 

_Not her._

But there, Natasha stood in her tactical gear with short blonde hair. Her eyes swollen from too much crying. Her fists hung by her side. 

_Not her, Rogers._

Steve stood paralyzed before her. If this wasn't Nat, then why was her face swollen? Was this another trick? Or had the Soul Stone let him get a glimpse of her soul, through all the artifice and lies? 

_Not Nat._

The Stone didn't say anything, just stared at him and seethed with emotion. Steve finally saw it, barely visible - the Stone's tell. He thought it was the light in this place changing her eye color, but it wasn't. It was an internal source. A glint of orange, like the fire burning underneath the surface. 

"And what have you brought me?" the Stone asked.

A familiar hum caught his attention. His shield, rolling into his periphery before spinning out on the floor. He stared at it until it stopped and settled in the shallow water. He slowly turned back toward the bed behind him. 

Steve couldn't process what he was seeing at first. Two bodies splayed on top of tangled sheets. The mattress drenched in blood. 

Steve then remembered what happened - how he came to this place. The mountain on Vormir. The conversation with the Red Skull. The running leap he took, thinking he could somehow control something. Anything. The way down. The last bit of strength to feel his life fading. The horror of realizing he wasn't alone. That he was too late.

He died. They both… died. 

Steve could only do one thing. He reached down and gently closed Nat's eyes. His fingers grazed her hair matted with blood. 

_Natasha._

He didn't dare look at his own broken body on the other side of the bed. 

"You did this," the Stone said. "You brought me _your_ mess and expected me to fix it." 

Steve closed his eyes to block out the image in front of him. Was Nat going through this same trial too? Somewhere? 

"You said that her death brought you me. But then what does your death bring? Complications. Here I have an offering, but also an offer. Spilled together," the Stone continued as if it were the most normal problem. "Not sure how I can separate them."

Steve said nothing. He continued to touch Nat's hair.

"Such a mess," it said, sounding distant.

"Stop," he said with a hoarse voice. "Please… stop."

He looked over at the Soul Stone, meeting its swollen eyes with his own and wondered how it could ever understand.

* * *

Steve might not go to church anymore, but he remembered his Bible. He didn't know how exactly that would help him now, but it was the only reference point he could remember. He would have to resist whatever was happening if he wanted to get out of this alive.

 _If_ he was alive. 

That part was still a little unclear.

What was clear, though, were the lengths the Soul Stone was prepared to put him through. 

The bed was gone, replaced by a record player silently spinning a record. This Natasha had a messy ponytail, piled on top of her head. Black v-neck t-shirt with a knot at her waist, and those high-waisted jeans. Combat boots instead of ballet slippers. 

Steve knew this scene. Back in Brooklyn last year, when he dragged her away from the compound for a long weekend. The night Natasha broke his heart with her honesty and taught him to dance. 

"Why did you jump after her?" the Soul Stone asked. "You could have handed the stone to Johann and let her be at peace." 

"If this is the sort of peace you were going to grant her, then I'm glad I jumped." 

The Stone smirked, and Steve hated it. The way it borrowed Natasha's looks, her expressions. It held out a hand. "Dance with me?" it asked. No music. Just the gentle splashing of its steps as it approached Steve. 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"You're not her." 

The Stone knit its brow and pursed its lips. "I can give her to you," it said quietly.

While he would do anything to bring Nat back, he didn't want to be played. "I thought all exchanges were final." 

"I think that's dependent on me," the Stone said. "So how about that dance?" 

Steve sighed and relented, holding out a hand, and the Stone gladly took it. Steve steeled himself against the situation, not wanting to think too deeply about what all of this meant. At the same time, he was unable to remain neutral. He missed Nat. And here was this Nat-looking creature putting him through the wringer. He couldn't _not_ be affected.

The Soul Stone pressed its cheek against Steve's shoulder, dancing close as they swayed to the quiet. "Is this why they do it?" the Stone asked into his shoulder. 

"Hm?" 

"This feeling you two share - is it why mortals trade lives?" it asked. "Even their own?"

Steve startled, pulling back and looking down at the face that the Stone wore. Cracks through the seams, orange light through the skin. Was this why the Soul Stone wanted to dance with Steve? Put him through these trials? 

"That's what you're offering, is it not?" the Stone whispered. "Your own life in exchange for hers?" 

"Yes," Steve said, unable to deny it. 

The Stone hummed, fascinated, and pressed its cheek against Steve's shoulder again. "I can release her to you on this condition, then. You can never take her home. Otherwise, you belong to me." 

* * *

The light filtered through a single wall of amber-colored stained glass, encased in an intricate stone latticework. The wall stood like a monolith in the center of the void Steve was trapped in with the Soul Stone. 

Footsteps approached him as he stared up at the window, light splashing as a heel hit the ground. He knew which Natasha was behind him before he dared to face her. 

The long, wavy dark locks framed her fair face. Soft pink lipstick. A black trench coat cinched at the waist. 

_Never take her home? Or he'll belong to the Stone?_

"I don't understand," he admitted. 

"It saves me the trouble from having to separate you two--" 

"No, about never taking her home." 

The Soul Stone took a deep breath. "If I release her to you, you will never be able to take her home," it explained, almost sounding genuinely concerned. "If you do, I claim not just your soul, Steven Son of Sarah. All of you. I need a new Stonekeeper. Someone who knows how to resist the temptations of me and mine. And Johann has proved incapable of deterring my seekers. I want to rest, sometime before the next millennia." 

Steve idly wondered how Thanos destroying the stones in 2018 would work for the Soul Stone's vacation plan. How its destruction would affect this deal. He was stuck on taking her home. He cleared his throat before answering. "Then I'll stay here with her," Steve said. "I'll tell her what happened. I'll tell her that we won." 

"And what if she doesn't want you?" 

"You told me she loved me."

"A lie. A ruse. A cheap trick." 

Steve already figured as much. "Doesn't matter," he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. He would stay with Natasha for however long she wanted, in whatever capacity she wanted. "If I agree to these conditions, she's alive? No tricks? No lies?" he asked. That was the most crucial part. 

"Yes. I swear to you on the dead Celestials that wielded me and mine," the Soul Stone promised. "You have been kind to me, so now I have been kind to you." 

Steve wanted to make sure he wasn't missing anything, or somehow being played for a sucker. He ran over the conditions: once he got her back, Steve couldn't take her home unless he wanted a new job. 

As for never going home, this wasn't the original timeline. The branch reality, technically, had been clipped once Steve returned the final Infinity Stone on Vormir, right? So any nasty variation that occurred should be contained to just him and Natasha - contained to them as they live out their lives in the branch. But he supposed there was no real way to know until he agreed. 

_Nothing is ever final._

Peggy's words gave him some stupid hope that even if he agreed to this, they could find a way around the Soul Stone's conditions. Natasha and Steve could figure it out together.

A life with Natasha. On the run. If she'd have him.

"Okay," Steve said, his voice thick with conviction. "Okay." 

The Soul Stone studied him, taking a step closer. Then it touched Steve's arm. Then it brushed off his shoulder and straightened his tie like something was off about Steve rather than the situation. 

"Why would you do this?" it asked, more out of curiosity than despair.

"Because…" Steve started, before he realized something. 

The Soul Stone choosing this form was no coincidence. Natasha, on the day of Peggy's funeral. The Stone was accustomed to manipulating souls. So either it wanted a reaction, or it felt something akin to empathy and presented Steve with the obvious answer. Or maybe Nat was somehow steering it, just like she steered that Chitauri to the top of Stark Tower. 

Either way, Steve Rogers knew - deep in his soul - that the answer was real. 

"I don't want her to be alone." 

The orange light glowed, brighter and brighter, like a sun rising from all horizons. The Soul Stone raised its borrowed hand and--

_Snap._


	9. 05a.USA-NY.2023

_"Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience."_  
\- Steve Rogers

**_Upstate New York, October 2023_ **  
**_The Avengers Facility_ **

* * *

Steve found Natasha in the lounge, which had become her unofficial office over the last year. He could always find her there when he visited the compound.

But now, it was overrun with piles of stuff.

With the reunion of the Avengers (old _and_ new), the lounge looked less like her workspace and more like a college rec room where everyone had dumped their stuff in between brainstorming sessions. The mess had spread beyond the lounge, into the conference room and other spaces. The kitchen had been taken over with empty food containers, and the fridge was full of leftovers.

The late nights, bright ideas, and meticulous planning all led to this moment.

Tomorrow morning was the Time Heist.

Everyone was supposed to be asleep as they planned to depart after sunrise. Banner even offered to make everyone breakfast in the morning.

But Steve was glad to find at least one restless soul, and that it was Natasha.

Nat sat in the middle of the dining table with her legs crossed. She was studying the holo-screens that displayed the stones and their teams, her notepad balanced on her knee.

"What are you doing up?" Steve asked, circling the table.

"Can't sleep," she admitted, clicking her pen idly. She gave him a tired but sincere smile.

Steve climbed onto the table next to her, scooting back to join her at her side. He surveyed the screens. "Yeah, well, you're gonna need your rest for tomorrow."

Nat rolled her eyes at his parenting attempt. "Then what are you doing up?"

"Making sure everyone else is asleep," he said, flashing a dimple.

"Uh-huh. Admit it. You're just as excited as I am."

Steve couldn't deny it. At first, when Scott Lang showed up on the compound's doorstep, rambling about time travel, he thought it a fool's errand. But the work they've done, the preparation... "It's not every day you figure out time travel."

Nat smirked. "Well, you're a long way from 1918 Brooklyn, Rogers. In the future, we can travel all sorts of ways. Maybe you've heard of these things called airplanes?"

Steve chuckled, relaxing next to her. He stretched out his legs, leaning back onto his hands. He watched her for a moment, a soft smile on his face. "You seem in good spirits."

"I am," Natasha admitted. "It's great having the team back together."

"Here I thought you might be annoyed with me for stepping up," Steve admitted. Since being back in the compound, with all the errant Avengers having returned, he stepped into the leadership role.

Nat waved it off. "Nebula, Rhodey, and Rocket... they were my team. Those other guys, they listen to you."

"They'd listen to you, too," he insisted.

She grinned. "You still get to give the speech tomorrow."

Steve smiled, which somewhat faltered when he glanced at the Soul Stone under the Morag/Vormir screen. The decision to send Nat with Clint to the place least known to all of them made strategic sense. The two operatives were experienced with being dropped into unknown lethal situations and coming back alive.

But he wasn't happy with it. He knew he was more useful in New York, but he wished he was going with her.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff was hopeful for the first time in a very long time. With the work they did - Tony, Bruce, and Scott figuring out time travel, and the team gathering intel on the Infinity Stones - how could they not win? She spent her waking moments poring over the information, and it was solid. It felt good having the team back together and seeing Steve command a room.

As long as nothing went too awry during their trips, they should have the Infinity Stones by tomorrow morning.

_Tomorrow morning._

Then the work on their gauntlet could be finished.

Then everyone would come home.

How could she sleep when they were so close?

Steve was getting that familiar, dark expression as they sat on the table. The one where the dark thoughts threatened to take over. Natasha hated that expression. She hated that he was burdened. So she pivoted their conversation.

"I was thinking..." she started. "After this, I might take a vacation."

"Oh yeah?"

She smirked. "I've got some bikinis that aren't going to wear themselves."

"Thought you didn't wear them," he said.

"When did I say that?" she asked nonchalantly. Natasha knew exactly what he was talking about. Steve had pushed her into that room, against the wall, when he came back to reclaim the drive from the vending machine.

"Years ago, when you first told me about the Winter Soldier--"

"I remember. I was just surprised you did."

Steve looked at her differently, like he was considering all those other times she questioned anything. She pretended to know and not know things as needed, allowing others to reveal their reaction.

 _Who's the girl?_ (Peggy Carter, founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.)

 _What was his question?_ (She wasn't gonna give him a direct answer if he wasn't going to articulate his question properly... even if it was his birthday.)

 _When did she say that?_ (When he was learning to trust her.)

It was a tactic she used forever, as a way to gauge what Steve (or anyone) really knew.

"Anyway," Natasha said, elbowing him in the side. "I'm looking for someone to take over while I'm gone. Think you're up to the task?"

"So, you're gonna ask me to stay behind while you have all the fun?"

"Well, I didn't know how you'd react to being invited." She tried not to demand Steve's attention after that weekend in Brooklyn. It wasn't fair to either of them. Yes, she found him attractive, but her head wasn't in the right place to reciprocate his feelings. But seeing the light of the end of the nightmarish tunnel... it had her considering other possibilities.

Like Steve.

There were so many possibilities with Steve.

"You could ask, and we could find out," he said, his voice dropping low.

Steve was right. Natasha could do that. She could admit that she wanted him there with her when she finally relaxed. That it wouldn't feel like a vacation unless he was there with her. But right now, she was kind of enamored by the look in his eyes. Like maybe if she leaned over and kissed him, he would retaliate by kissing her all over this table.

"Nat?"

A voice interrupted their closeness. Both Steve and Natasha startled. They straightened up and turned toward Clint Barton as he wandered into the lounge.

"Guess I lost my chance, huh?" Natasha said quietly to Steve.

Steve didn't say anything. He was the first off the table.

Natasha scooted to the edge of the table, trying to regain her senses. "Not able to sleep?" she asked Clint.

Clint shook his head, eyeing Steve before stepping further into the lounge. "Was thinking you'd be up for sparring."

They used to spar all the time. It may be good to get in sync for tomorrow. "Yeah, sure. I'll knock you out so hard, you'll sleep for days," Nat teased.

"Just need a few hours, Romanoff," Clint said, with a mischievous grin. "Not looking to time travel to next week just yet."

Steve busied himself, picking up some of the strewn books and started stacking them. He had been doing that each evening, Natasha noticed. So while it was no different than what he had been doing, she could tell he was annoyed.

"Did no one listen to me when I said sunrise?" Steve asked, his tone clipped.

"It's time travel," Clint countered, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Pretty sure it waits for us."

Natasha fought the urge to push Clint's arm away in front of Steve. Instead, she slid an arm around Clint's waist as he led them out of the lounge and toward the gym.

* * *

After a long sparring session with Clint, Natasha finally felt the right mix of mental clarity and exhaustion to get to sleep.

Her feelings for Clint ran the gamut: from foe to friend, to something not-quite unrequited. Her love for Clint was evident, but there were layers - some of them, intense. That period in her life had already been so confusing. Sometimes, an operative had to do what was required of the job, and that required putting family aside. Natasha had understood his behavior better than most. She had never faulted Clint for what he had to do to win her trust. It had hurt when he left her in that capacity, but she had never blamed him.

In fact, she owed him. She owed him her life.

Luckily for Clint, Natasha wasn't the clingy type. And luckily for Natasha, the questionable origin of their partnership didn't prevent Clint from introducing her to his family later down the line. Didn't stop her from becoming the beloved Aunty Nat to his children. Didn't prevent her from forming a beautiful friendship with his wife, Laura.

Natasha loved the Bartons - all of them. The rest of the family remained in the dark with how Clint made her part of their family.

Clint walked her back to her room in comfortable silence. Having him back on their side and falling into their familiar rhythms was everything to Natasha.

But her mind wandered back to Steve and their moment on the table.

Then Clint shattered the peace. "How long has this thing between you and Mister Rogers been going on?"

The shock - and her daydreaming - must have been written on her face. "What?"

"You and him in the library with a candlestick," Clint chided, glancing around. Most of the other Avengers had gone to sleep if closed doors were any indicator. "Come on. This isn't a game of _Clue_ , Romanoff. You know what I'm talking about. What's going on?"

"It's... nothing," Natasha said with a small shrug, before disappearing into her room. "Fascination, I guess. Flirtation. Attraction. What ifs."

"Uh-huh," Clint said, wedging himself into her doorway so she couldn't shut the door in his face. "You used to be a better liar. What else changed while I was gone?"

_Everything._

"Nothing has changed," she said exasperated. "I've been busy--"

"Natasha," Clint said in the husky, dirty way that at one time could undo her. He used it as a tactic to get her in line. It didn't have the same effect as it had in the past.

"Clint," she said, feeling tired beyond her years. She didn't want to have this conversation with him, mostly because she wasn't ready to parse it herself. "I don't want to talk about it."

"If you're trying to protect my feelings because my family vanished--"

"It's not about your family or your feelings," Natasha snapped. "I didn't tell you because you weren't _here._ "

Clint flinched. She didn't mean to make him feel bad in any way, but that was the truth. He didn't get to know because he wasn't here to find out.

Natasha moved around her room to get out clothes to sleep in after she had a chance to shower. Then she turned back to Clint, who watched her intently from his perch in the doorway.

"Besides, once everyone's back, maybe we'll be too busy with everything to flirt or make eyes at each other," she flatly finished.

Even as she said the words, dread squeezed hard around her heart. She ignored the sadness that Clint reflected back at her.

Natasha hoped that wouldn't be the case - that she and Steve would somehow figure out what was brewing between them. But she couldn't be sure if the new normal was going to take Steve away from her. Her own self-interest would have to continue to take a back seat as it had for the last five years.

Clint sighed. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he said, and she knew he meant her denial. He stood up from the doorway. "Good night, Natasha."

 _Tomorrow morning,_ she reminded herself after Clint left.

Tomorrow, everyone will come back. Then Natasha could sort out her feelings for Steve Rogers.

* * *

Steve was drowning. He staggered out of the compound, unable to see straight. He was unsure where his feet were taking him until he saw it.

The dock.

How many summer nights had they spent out here? The number of nights dwindled when he moved to Brooklyn, but this had become his spot with Natasha. A few crisp beers underneath the sun or stars. Hell, if they were here last night instead of the lounge, maybe she wouldn't have gone off with Barton. She clearly shouldn't have gone off with Barton in the first place.

Natasha didn't come home.

They got the stones, but Natasha _didn't come home._

After they returned and discovered what they gained and lost, the others dispersed. Some to their rooms and others to the lab. Steve tried to pull it together, but he wasn't needed to finish the gauntlet. Once he changed out of the stolen clothes, he had to come up for air. He headed to the river.

"Cap!" someone hollered after him. "Rogers!"

Steve recognized that voice but continued onward. "Not now, Tony."

Tony jogged and caught up with him just as Steve was pacing the length of the dock. He just stared at Steve, empathy dawning on his face. "I didn't know," Tony finally said.

"Didn't know what? That this was how it was going to turn out?" Steve started shouting. "That she wasn't prepared to lay down her life to get everyone else back? She had been working toward nothing else for five years! Bringing everyone back was all she lived for, Tony." His angry words echoed out over the water, and he turned away from Tony.

"I get it. You're angry. You should be," Tony said. He exhaled, clamping a hand onto Steve's shoulder. "I didn't know what she meant to you. That she was your second chance."

Steve couldn't look at him. He shook his head, steeling himself as he looked out over the Hudson. Tears burned in his eyes. "No."

_Not again._

He couldn't have missed his chance _again._

Natasha should be here. Not Tony, not fucking Clint Barton, not anyone else.

_Natasha._

Steve had been looking forward to recounting the antics, how he had deceived Rumlow and Sitwell, how Tony and he had gone back to 1970 - all of it. He felt like she would have been proud of this level of espionage. She'd laugh... and poke fun... and then they'd have their friends back. Maybe there'd be a vacation somewhere. Anywhere. He didn't care. He just wanted to be with Natasha.

And now... nothing. Nat's sacrifice left with a large hole in his chest. A larger hole in his life. He was back in Wakanda, losing his friends all over again. Only she wasn't here to rescue him from drowning.

"I'm sorry, bud," Tony said softly.

Steve realized he was crying. He rubbed his face. Steve didn't know what to do with himself. He started back toward the compound to get away from Tony. But he collapsed on a bench.

Tony didn't say anything else for a while, taking a seat next to him. Steve leaned forward, covering his face in his hands as he mourned. Tony placed a hand on his shoulder and sat with him in silence.

After a few minutes, a commotion came from the compound.

"We got incoming," Tony said.

Steve lifted his head to see what his friend meant. Clint led the charge, followed by Banner and Thor.

Steve wasn't ready to face them. Not all of them. Tony must have known that, because he got up to wrangle the group, leaving Steve to regain his composure.

Natasha Romanoff had been an excellent partner and a trusted ally. She was his family. She had become his best friend and possibly more. And now she was gone - all so they could finally bring everyone back? She wouldn't be here to see it. And he wouldn't be able to share in the relief with her that _yes, they finally fucking won._

This was her moment. And she was gone.

_Listen, Natasha... how am I supposed to carry on without you?_


	10. 11b.Space.2014.2

_"You did the hardest part. You took the jump. You didn't know where you were gonna come down."_  
\- Steve Rogers

**_Somewhere in Space, 2014_  
_The_ Milano**

* * *

Natasha Romanoff dreamed in an empty sort of way. Something wasn't right, but she couldn't place it.

_He can never take you home..._

She woke with a start and one hell of a headache. Her whole body was stiff. She was curled up on some red-orange upholstered bunk. She stretched out her bones. She rubbed her face and tried to wake herself up. She was tangled up in a blanket in the belly of a ship she didn't recognize.

Just... give her a minute.

Natasha blinked, clearing the sleep from her eyes. Then she scanned her surroundings from the burrito of a blanket. She squinted at the interface on the inside of the bunk. Was that... a cassette player? ...and a Troll doll? Where the hell was she? ... _When_ the hell was she? Was this the 1980s?

Next time, remind her to leave time travel to the professionals.

Natasha pushed herself off the bunk, noting the chipped pleather of the padding. Her temples pounded, and she readjusted the blanket over her shoulder as she nursed her head. After a moment, the pain ebbed. She stood, turning to leave the blanket behind and immediately caught a chill from exposed air.

Her armor and gear were gone. What was left of her clothing were scraps hanging off her shoulders and sticking to her skin. They were still somewhat damp. She understood the blanket now. It had been wrapped around her, not only to keep her warm but to keep her covered.

At the edge of the bunk was a stack of clothes. A t-shirt and green canvas jumpsuit. That meant one thing: Natasha wasn't alone on this ship.

She wasn't sure if that was comforting. Depended on who that someone was.

Natasha removed the tattered remains of her uniform, changing quickly in case that specific someone came back. The clothes were big on her, but at least they were dry. She rolled up the leg of the jumpsuit to keep from tripping on them. Her boots were in okay shape. She let her braid loose, running her fingers through damp tresses to pull her hair out of her face and into a tightly coiled bun.

Then she ransacked the area until she found a firearm or weapon. She came across some sort of space pistol. With a quick glance over the casing, she found a switch. A low hum emanated as it powered up a charge.

She stood silent, listening for movement before she climbed the ladder. She couldn't hear anything over the sound of the engines. Hopefully, that meant they couldn't detect her either. She hoisted herself up through the hatch and crawled onto the deck above, peering to make sure the coast was clear.

Darkness extended through the upper deck. Natasha's new clothes made a rustle too loud for her ears, but the sound was masked by the ship's engines and other ambient noise. She deliberately placed her steps as she stalked toward the helm. She stepped silently through the dark galley, holding her new gun in front of her.

The cockpit comes into view ahead of her.

Then the dark expanse of space.

She froze, dread crashing over her.

_No._

Natasha was arrested by the void through the window. A sharp realization gripped her. She had momentarily forgotten. Forgotten why she was so far from home. Forgotten what she had done. But... but if that was the case... then...

She reinforced her hold on the space pistol. Her eyes dropped to the man in the chair, a familiar insignia on his suit's shoulder. In one hand, he held an open compass with the faded newspaper clipping of Peggy Carter. His shield was propped next to his seat.

"Steve?"

Steve Rogers lurched, startled by her sudden appearance. In his other hand, a fist closed around a time-space GPS before snapping the compass closed. He then eyed the barrel of the weapon she kept pointed at him. "You can put that down."

"Anyone else on the ship?" she demanded, suspicious of him being here.

"No," he said as he settled back against his seat. He tucked the GPS and compass away. He sounded exhausted, rather than on edge. Steve glanced back at her over his shoulder. "It's just us."

Natasha scrutinized him before she relaxed. She lowered her firearm and surveyed the cockpit for more context clues. Her brain must have been playing tricks on her. It was the only way to explain why she was suddenly in a ship she had never seen before with Steve Rogers. Because the last time she was in a spaceship...

She carefully settled into the seat next to him. She placed the space pistol on the console and buckled herself in. In her periphery, Steve was staring at her. She kept her eyes forward as she tried to piece together what was happening. She had her suspicions but needed more information.

After a moment, she set her gaze onto the navigational system. "Where are we going?"

"Xandar."

Xandar. The name felt like a confirmation - not of their destination, but what she was experiencing. She had heard of Xandar before, so it couldn't be random. Thanos destroyed the planet when he had retrieved the Power Stone, as she recalled from Nebula and Thor's intel.

But then why was Steve here in the ship? Was this her brain's way of processing the enormity of her choice on Vormir? Was her mind trying to make sense and recycle information she already knew?

Natasha let that theory marinate as she busied herself. Rocket had given Clint and her a rundown of the _Benatar's_ systems once they had decided which teams were going after which stones. This ship looked like a similar class, so she imagined it was the same system.

She activated the holo-screen to bring up the flight controls. "Have you located the jump point?"

"Not yet," Steve admitted.

"It'll reduce flight time--" she stopped, catching her words. Years ago, Rocket had upgraded the Quinjet to reduce their flight time when they left Wakanda. She had said something similar then, too.

Was this whole situation recycled from her memories? On Vormir, she had made the tough, necessary choice. She knew what was required when she threw herself off that ledge to catch Clint. And Natasha had meant all of it. _Whatever it takes_ , they promised.

The fact was that the team knew the least about the Soul Stone. And while that made Clint and Natasha uniquely qualified for the mission, they had been blind-sided by the exchange. So maybe this was part of the Soul Stone's gimmick. Pick through the carcass of the memories from a soul. See what else it could take.

Tears burned in Natasha's eyes, and she blinked them away. "What were you waiting on?" she asked, desperate to think about anything else.

"For you to wake up," he admitted.

Natasha forced a soft smile. She suspected that she wasn't ever going to wake up - that this was some existential dream. But it was a sweet sentiment. So she focused on the information Steve had input into the system. "Are these the coordinates?"

"Natasha?"

"Yeah?"

"Look at me."

Of course, Steve would notice her strange behavior. She had wished he could see through her, even when she didn't want him to.

Even if this Steve was only a fragment of her memory, Natasha avoided looking directly at him. She couldn't be sure if this was effectively one last kiss - her brain saying goodbye. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to Steve (in any form, any version).

She had no regrets about her choice on Vormir. In her life, however... well...

When she had left New York in 2023, she intended to sort out her life upon her return. Figure out what was next. Figure out what she wanted. That strong desire was probably why Steve was with her now in this odd mind game. As she had dangled from Clint's grasp and told him it was okay, it was Steve who had occupied her final thoughts.

She never got to say goodbye to Steve or the rest of the team. Maybe it was better this way. Still, she wasn't ready to let the memory of Steve him go if this was all she had left. And she feared she would be one step closer to being really gone.

Delaying the inevitable would just delay the pain, she decided. Natasha regained her composure and gathered the courage to look at him in the chaos surrounding her.

Steve Rogers really was a handsome man. He looked at her with that soft expression, a mix of worry, concern, and a dash of comfort. He always seemed so kissable in those moments. But she never wanted to worry him.

 _Fine,_ she thought. She would entertain this. What else did she have going on? She was otherwise dying at the bottom of some mountain on a planet far from Earth.

She cleared her throat. "Where'd you find the ship?"

"Morag," he answered.

Nat snorted. "Hotwiring a car is one thing, Rogers," she quipped, her head lolling back against the chair as she looked over at him.

Steve smirked. "Didn't have to hotwire a thing," he said, his tone light. "I waited for the owner to get arrested."

She laughed at that tidbit. "I feel like you're leaving out so many details," she said, regarding Steve with friendly suspicion. She rifled through the intel she remembered about what went down during this time. "Ship on Morag... 2014?"

He nodded.

"Rocket said his name was... Quill. So this would be the _Milano_."

A strange calm came over her as she looked back out through the stars. Even dying, her brain could make use of the intel. It was an odd comfort that, as she lay dying at the bottom of some altar to the Soul Stone, her brain was able to concoct a scenario in her final moments.

Natasha activated the jump, and starlight streamed around them. She glanced back at Steve. A halo of stars surrounded him.

There were worse ways to go.

* * *

Since Steve Rogers had pulled Natasha out of the shallow waters of Vormir, he had been on autopilot. Adrenaline pumped through him as he carried her to the _Milano._ He had been intently focused on getting her on board. He raided the cabin, looking for something - anything - she could wear when she regained consciousness. _If_ she regained consciousness.

All of this action? It was merely momentum. He had to keep moving or else he didn't know what to do.

The Soul Stone had been returned. The deal with the Soul Stone haunted him, but not in the form of nightmares. Instead, it took the sense of empty dread - he wasn't sure how to make it right.

Steve was not okay. He wasn't sure what would make all of this okay. What had he done?

_Listen, Natasha - I could really use an assist here._

His adrenaline was gone. Depleted. Once Nat had been wrapped up, Steve collapsed onto the bunk across from her and passed out.

Telling time was hard out in space, on a planet always in the shadow of another. After Steve woke up, he wasn't sure if it had been hours or days.

All he knew was Natasha - if it was truly Nat and not another mirage - was still unconscious in the bunk across from him. He also knew he was starving. He needed fuel. Steve took the risk to leave her side and explored the kitchen for food.

As his food heated in whatever microwave-like appliance, Steve noticed the device strapped around his hand, turning his hand over. He had been wearing the time-space GPS the entire time, using it while he returned all of the Infinity Stones to their rightful places. He had grown accustomed to its presence.

Then he realized why he was suddenly fixated on it.

Steve dropped back down to the deck, peeling back the blanket to reveal Nat's hand - no, both her hands. And it wasn't there.

Her time-space GPS wasn't there.

_You can never take her home..._

All the trouble he went through to intercept Quill and steal the _Milano_ so he could keep an extra vial of Pym Particles... all so he could get to her... and bring her back... take her home...

All of Natasha's gear and weapons had been stripped, and her armor in shambles. And now he was short of one GPS.

But he thought... he didn't think...

Steve had told the Soul Stone he would stay with Nat. He thought that together they could find a way to circumvent the Stone's conditions.

But it didn't _fucking_ matter if they had only _one_ time-space GPS.

Frustration tore through Steve, and Steve tore through the ship. He wasn't sure who was more deserving of his anger: the Soul Stone or himself. Steve had made the deal. He meant to resist, but he had played right into what the Soul Stone wanted.

Steve needed Natasha because he was entirely out of his depth. He was a soldier. He knew how to take action and get through a war. But he didn't know what to do next. He really needed the spy.

After what felt like an eternity, but was at most a few hours, Steve decided to take the risk to get them off this planet. He wasn't sure if staying on Vormir was doing any good for Nat. He got the _Milano_ into orbit, drifting toward an access point that would take them to Xandar.

That was when Nat surprised him.

Natasha Romanoff had emerged from the ship's depths with a gun defensively drawn. She had seemed suspicious in a way that was entirely Nat. Tension released from his body - tension he wasn't aware he had been holding since he collected her.

Steve had spent so much time worrying about if they'd be able to get back, that he hadn't thought about what he should say when she woke up. And despite her elusive behavior, she didn't even seem perturbed that it was him in the ship with her.

"Rocket said his name was... Quill. So this would be the _Milano,_ " she had posited.

"Yeah. That's the guy," he confirmed.

Steve couldn't be exactly sure what else she remembered. She pointed out that Morag meant that it must be 2014. And if Nat knew it was 2014, what else did she know? Did she remember Vormir? Did she remember jumping off the cliff? Had she, too, gone through trials with the Soul Stone?

Steve didn't know how much space to give her. He wanted to shake her. He wanted her to get confused or angry or something, just like he was. But she didn't say anything more as she activated the jump and they high-tailed it back to Xandar.

By the time they made it back to the outer atmosphere or Xandar, someone hijacked the _Milano's_ navigation and control systems. Transmissions in different languages cycled through the ship's communication channels, preparing them to meet peacefully in case they need to be arrested. As the _Milano_ broke through the lower atmosphere, ships of gold starbursts greeted them to escort them to the planet's surface.

Natasha frowned. A crack in her eerie composure. "Quill and the others were arrested," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Steve confirmed, trying to mash the controls to somehow trigger a release.

"And we've returned to Xandar... in a ship registered to a felon," she stated, almost daring him to contradict her.

Steve hadn't thought that far ahead. Admittedly, he was a little distracted. Perhaps there were other planets he could have taken her. But a small, indignant part of him wanted to return Quill's ship.

Nat scrambled to undo her harness before he even had a chance to respond.

He huffed, recognizing his fault in the present situation. "Yeah."

Nat moved below deck, toward the rear of the ship where the loading ramp would be. Steve scooped up his shield before his heavy footsteps followed after her.

Once the ship settled into its docked position, Natasha hit the release on the ramp. She zipped up her jumpsuit to the neck and tightened the belt around her waist.

Outside, local law enforcement swarmed the exit. Steve tightened his grip on the shield's straps, ready to fight their way out as necessary.

Nat glanced at him, then at the shield. "Stand down," she said in a calm, raspy voice. "Follow my lead."

Steve's heart pounded, but he gave her a nod. After years of running together, she had consistently shown how to get them out of many difficult situations. He trusted her ability. Still, he counted the men on the ground out of habit.

Once the ramp touched the ground, Natasha stalked down the gangplank. She shot him a smirk from over her shoulder. "By the way - this one's on you."

* * *

**_Xandar_**

* * *

Acquire those clothes. Observe that restaurant patio. Swipe the bill before it makes it back to the table. Grab whatever was used as a credit card. Walk into the hotel. Borrow someone else's luggage to sell their cover. Check into a room.

Perhaps Natasha was behaving more recklessly than the situation warranted. She had the opportunity to exercise stealth and go completely undetected. But she was having too much fun in this mental showdown before her mind went dark. A little bit of chaos was exhilarating as they scoured the city for cover.

After the _Milano_ had been seized and they disembarked the ship, she had implied their business: traveling mechanics returning a ship after off-planet repairs. What did the local law enforcement - the Nova Corps - mean the owners weren't there to meet them? They needed to get paid! Natasha had played the huffy business owner and painted Steve as the (silent) muscle. The officers had become frustrated and took only the ship.

Steve, on the other hand, looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown. At first, she thought it was their confrontation. He had nervously glanced back at the Nova Corp, impounding the ship while Natasha was confidently marched off the shipyard. But as they made it off the lot and implemented familiar but risky espionage tactics from their underground days, Steve's agitation only grew.

Whatever. Natasha was dying anyway.

They made their way to the hotel room without further incident. The door slid open with a wave of their key and a hiss, revealing a simple hotel suite with two queen beds on one side and a kitchenette. A calming beige with some moderate green accents throughout the bedding and curtains. Wooden framing lined the wall's modular panels and sliding doors.

The interior design struck Natasha as _ryokan-meets-cruise-ship._ Or very spa-like. It didn't initially feel like they were on a faraway planet.

But then, there was the view...

Steve entered the room behind her, leaving the stolen luggage by the door. He checked out the bathroom first, then secured the suite.

Natasha approached the large picture window on the far end of the room, which took up the entire wall. She stared out over the skyline of the city, cast in orange after two of the three suns had already set. The city glittered gold, as people below walked along the canal and gardens.

She glanced over her shoulder at Steve. "New planet, new views. You really know how to impress a girl, Rogers."

Steve stopped his inspection. He let out a laugh and came to stand next to her at the window. "Definitely a long way from Brooklyn," he softly spoke, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Or Stalingrad," Natasha added, thinking about her childhood home for the first time in a long time.

For a moment, they fell into a comfortable silence while they watched the third sunset. Steve's earlier mood had dissipated and he seemed more relaxed. Together, they regarded the golden city in its twilight.

Xandar was beautiful, and the city made Natasha recall the capital of Wakanda.

How far had she and Steve gone? Except... this wasn't real.

How long did she have left with this moment?

Natasha turned her head, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of him. Impulse took over. She snatched at his shirt. She pulled him down and kissed him.

Steve tensed. "...Nat?"

Natasha released her fist from the fabric and brushed some hair out of his face. Then she slid her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. "Yes?"

Steve swallowed, glancing down at their hands as she laced her fingers with his. "What are you doing?"

She smirked and stepped in closer. "Kissing you," she said, her voice dropping low. "Is that okay?"

His expression went dark, and she wanted to put him out of his misery. She tugged him toward her, standing on her toes to meet his mouth and kiss him again.

Steve dropped her hands. He clutched her upper arms to hold her at a distance. "Natasha, wait... "

"Don't worry," she said with a laugh that sounded odd in her own ears. "None of this is real."

The blood drained from his face. "What...?"

"None of this is real, Steve," she repeated, sobering up a little. "I'm dying... somewhere... not here. And we don't have to worry about it."

Devastation flashed across his face, even if he was only an extension of her memory. He staggered back before he turned away from her. He sat on the foot of the bed.

Natasha had seen that look of disbelief all over Steve's face before. Most recently, when they had to witness Bruce's attempts to figure out time travel, using Scott Lang as his guinea pig. Now, Steve ran a hand over his face like he was trying to figure out what to do about this whole thing.

Steve really was adorable when he was out of his depth.

Unfortunately, they didn't have time. Natasha never got to confess how much he meant to her in life. So she did so now in the limited capacity she could - in the limited time that she could. "I don't completely understand it myself, but... if this is my last dying thought, I'm glad it was today. I'm glad it was you," she admitted.

Steve didn't say anything. He didn't react or look at her. He stared ahead of himself, his hands steepled over his nose. The city outside was no longer the only thing that reminded Natasha of Wakanda. She recalled how gutted Steve had been after the Snap - how he had sat in a room and stared into nothing until she pulled him out.

If her dying brain wanted her to replay a version of that memory, Natasha didn't know if her heart could handle it. Still, she approached the bed and sat next to him. She didn't have much time left. "Steve... "

"Nat, we need to talk," he finally spoke, clenching his jaw. "About what happened on Vormir... and the exchange with the Soul Stone."


	11. 12b.Xandar.2014.1

_"When I went under, the world was at war. I wake up; they say we won. They didn't say what we lost."_  
\- Steve Rogers

**_Xandar, 2014_ **

* * *

Steve Rogers had known something was wrong since Natasha woke up on the _Milano_ , but he couldn't put his finger on what was off about the situation — until now.

Nat had seemed so much like herself as she swept them through the city. She had been able to recall intel from the time heist, but he didn't want to push to find out what exactly she remembered from Vormir. He initially thought maybe her behavior was the result of some existential shock or post-death adrenaline.

But Steve saw the cracks in her cool exterior. The truth was she was far more reckless and spinning out of control. She had been sloppy.

Natasha Romanoff was never sloppy.

Now, they were sitting in a hotel room on the other side of the galaxy from their friends. They had spent many years in hotel rooms on the run with their friends, but then Nat started talking about how she was dying — that she was glad what she thought were her dying thoughts were of him?

She was spiraling.

_None of this is real._

Steve cleared his throat before getting straight to the point. "You're not dead," he said.

Nat laughed.

"I'm serious," he insisted, keeping his voice even.

Her grin faltered, her eyes flicking between his. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Steve's expression went hard. "I know I was on Vormir. I know I returned the Soul Stone, and you came back. And I know we were flying away from that damned place when you woke up on the ship."

Natasha looked like he had the wind kicked out of her. Steve pushed himself to stand, to regain some perspective and composure.

How in the hell was he supposed to convince someone they weren't dying when the situation they were in was just as crazy? Guess he should start around the beginning of what she would have missed.

"When we went to New York 2012, Banner was responsible for the Time Stone," he recalled, rubbing his hands together as he stepped in front of the window. He glanced over at her to make sure she was listening. "Strange wasn't around yet. It was too early, but the Time Stone was still there. The keeper of the Stone pointed out a significant flaw in our plan."

Nat's brow furrowed. "A flaw," she echoed.

He nodded. "If we removed the stones for their place in time, it would create dark off-shoots — branches of reality. Banner found out we needed to return the stones to heal the timeline."

She blinked slowly, turning over that information. She stood up from the bed herself. "You had to return the stones...?"

"Yeah. After we used them, we had to deliver them to their place in time. I volunteered for the mission. Everyone... well, they had family and loved ones. I didn't think it right to separate anyone else in case anything went wrong." He flashed her a sheepish smile. "Besides, time travel isn't so bad, even for a man as old as me."

Nat spun away from him, moving away from him as best as she could in their hotel room.

Steve was quick on her heels, catching her by her elbow. He couldn't let her get far. Not until he finished. "After I returned the Space Stone to Peggy, I hoped for a chance that maybe I could reverse the exchange."

"—Peggy?" Nat blinked at him, her frown deepening.

Steve wasn't sure if he imagined the hurt in her voice. He continued. "We had to improvise. The situation got complicated in New York. So we had to go to 1970—"

"What are you getting at, Steve?" Her eyes were trained on him, scanning him.

Right. "I saved Vormir for last. At first, I didn't want to give back the last piece of you that we had — that _I_ had." He could — and would — cover the specifics later to get her help on figuring out the solution. But for now, he had to stick to the high-level basics, pushing forward with his explanation. "But once I returned the Soul Stone, I got you."

"No," she said, shaking his hand off her. "The guide said our exchange was final."

Steve nodded. "He did."

"A soul," she paused for effect, jabbing a finger into his chest. "For a soul. Do you hear me, Rogers? That was the deal made. Barton and I fought our asses over that cliff, and like hell I was going to let it be him."

_It should've been me._ That was what Barton said when they all stood by the Hudson and mourned her death. Steve frowned at the idea of them debating who it would be, and Natasha winning that fight.

"I don't know how else to say it, Nat. You're not dead. Not anymore. You're here." He took a deep breath, then huffed out a sigh. "I need you to trust me."

Natasha stared at him, her eyes wide in disbelief and filling with tears. "You're lying," she said, adamant, but panic rose in her voice. "That's just the sort of thing I would want to hear. That it worked, and you came back."

"I _did_ come back—"

Natasha kicked Steve square in the middle of his chest.

He staggered backward, catching himself on the dresser. In the early days of their partnership, Natasha made it very clear that Steve wasn't allowed to go easy on her whenever they were sparring. He had felt a little bad for not holding back on a woman — not because Nat couldn't handle it, but because Sarah Rogers raised him better than that.

She also made it very clear she would never go easy on him — as evidenced by her fist striking his jaw.

Steve grabbed her by her elbow before she had a chance to reel it back. He twisted her arm behind her and jerked her, catching her off balance. Her body slammed against his. He locked his arms around her waist, pinning her arms to her side.

They both froze.

"Nat..." Steve ducked his head next to hers, speaking directly into her ear. "I'm not going to fight you. Are you done?"

Nat struggled for a moment before relenting. "...I haven't decided."

Her response, slightly sarcastic and closer to her usual tone, was the confirmation he needed to let her go. His arms dropped to his sides. He didn't push her away from him, though, and she relaxed against him.

The energy between them shifted, and he gingerly ran his hands up her hips. Her attention was on something ahead of them. He glanced up, seeing what she was looking at — the window. The window didn't only show the city at dusk, but the reflection of them as the sky darkened.

Nat twisted around, pulling him down and kissing him with a different urgency than before. Her hands were everywhere. Steve understood what she needed immediately. He felt the same drive in himself, now that they were somewhere near an understanding of what happened.

She shoved him back onto the bed. He quickly caught her by the hips and pulled her down with him. She scrambled on top, resuming their messy kiss. She pawed at the stolen shirt he wore. He sat up, allowing her to tug it up over his head, only breaking their kiss for a brief moment.

Maybe he should slow them down and talk about what happened with the Soul Stone, but he also needed this. Steve needed to feel her all over to make sure she was alive. He needed to know she was real.

He needed her out of this damn dress.

Steve pulled the top of her dress down around her waist. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with his belt. He lifted his hips underneath her, allowing him the room to maneuver his pants off of him.

Once he was free, she leaned forward, pressing him flat against the mattress. He rolled on top of her, hiking up her skirt around her waist as he anchored himself between her legs. He tore away the bunched fabric of the dress.

Steve slowly pumped into her, watching her for any sign that they needed to change course. She clung to him, pulling herself up to close the distance and pull him into a kiss. He found a steady rhythm. She dug her nails into his skin, the sting dragging across his shoulders.

This time was different from their night in Wakanda. More deliberate, less frantic on his part. His world wasn't ending. They won, and Natasha was alive.

They saw it in each other: the wild, caged things that demanded to be free.

Steve also recognized what made it different for him five years later. He pushed the hair out of her face, staring down at her underneath him. "I love you," he admitted quietly, in what little space existed between them.

Nat froze like a deer in headlights. Then, she melted underneath him. As Steve increased the pace, she fell back onto the mattress, creating enough space for her to maneuver her legs over his shoulders and take him deeper.

The sensation was too much. Natasha was too much. The white flashed behind his eyes as he fought to keep pace as she clenched around him. He buried himself into her hard like he was losing his balance as he finished inside of her.

Physically, he could keep going. He could get back up. His rebound was admirable. But emotionally, he hesitated — last time, when they were in Wakanda, so many years and light-years from here.

Nat distracted him by moving his hand from the mattress to between his legs, urging him to continue.

"Fuck, 'Tasha..." he breathed as he leaned forward. He moved his arms, letting her legs drop from his shoulders and wrap around his waist. He grew fascinated by the smallest ticks in her expression as she lifted her hips, grinding against his hand.

Steve was out of his damn mind in love with this woman. And she was alive, pulsing, writhing...

Natasha unleashed underneath him, arcing off the bed and gasping for air as she came. He understood what it felt to breathless, and he kissed away whatever air was left.

After a few moments, Steve lifted his head. His eyes scoured hers for anything to let him know what she was thinking.

Nat smiled softly. She quirked an eyebrow. She had something to say, but it took her a moment to get the words out. "You said you loved me."

Not a question. Steve flashed a dimple. "I did."

She swallowed. "Did you mean it?"

Steve nodded, shifting to roll off her, but she kept her ankled locked behind his back. He let out a huff, settling on top of her. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't," he said before his voice dropped lower. "I should've said it a long time ago."

Natasha squirmed under him, her legs now bracketing his hips. She wasn't trying to turn him on, though he was tempted. Tempted to dip, tempted to swim, tempted to drown.

Nat ran her tongue along her bottom lip before she continued. "Does it bother you that I don't say it back?"

Her expression was serious, so Steve seriously considered her question — no quips, no banter. He tucked hair behind her ear before running a thumb along her cheek. "No."

Her chest rose and fell sharply, her green eyes wide. "No?"

"No," he repeated, touching his forehead to hers. He was hard again, and the way she reacted to him communicated that she knew. She adjusted under him as he tried to parse what he wanted to say. What he needed her to know. "You say it in other ways, other actions... I know you..."

Before he could react, she tightened her knees around his waist and rolled him onto his back. Nat positioned him at her entrance, her face twisted with too many emotions as she lowered herself onto him. Everything had come to the surface.

"Steve..."

Steve heard the break in her voice as she pleaded his name, sending a shot through his body. He grabbed her waist, helping guide her as he breathed her name.

_Listen, Natasha..._

Nat settled onto him, gently swaying her hips before she started. Her control. Her deliberate shifts in her body and motion. The practiced, honed moves of a killer.

She was going to kill him.

And he was going to let her.

* * *

By the time they ran the gamut of their feelings on each others' bodies, the third sun of Xandar had long set over the horizon. An inky, purple night blanketed the city.

Natasha laid on her back, staring at the ceiling above their hotel bed. The room was illuminated only in the city lights. She was unable to say anything for a long time.

She hurt but in a good, productive way. Her knuckles were busted where she struck Steve's jaw earlier. Her hips and legs were sore from meeting Steve's thrusts. America's boy scout had responded to her in the way she needed to feel present in her body. To feel present in her soul.

Hmm.

If this was her swan song, wouldn't she feel closer to nothing if she was dying? Or some sense of existential calm?

The aches and pains throughout her body, the exposed and raw feelings — all of it made her feel like Steve was telling the truth. It made her believe that this was real. Instead of peace, she felt more herself than she had when she woke up on the _Milano_. She was alive. She was here, on an alien planet, with Steve Rogers wrapped around her.

Steve was also awake. His legs were hooked around hers, and he had one arm propped up around her head with his other hand splayed across her stomach. It was a protective gesture more than a territorial one. They laid together in the silence, listening to each other breathe and occasionally making eye contact across the dark.

Natasha extracted herself from his limbs, excusing herself to the bathroom for some space to think. Instead, she drew closer to the window, looking out over the alien horizon.

If she didn't know they were on Xandar, she could pretend they were in Dubai... or Shanghai... or even the Golden City of Wakanda back on Earth.

"Nat?" Steve propped himself up on his elbow.

Back on Earth...

A lump became lodged in her throat. Her eyes burned. "Did it work?" she quietly asked. Steve talked about using the stones and returning them, but she needed to know in explicit terms. She kept her gaze glued to the skyline. "Did everyone come back?"

The mattress shifted behind her as he got up. "Yeah, they did."

"Laura?" Natasha's voice cracked. "The children?"

"Yes," he said. His footsteps approached her. Steve slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. "Yes, I saw them with my own eyes."

Natasha couldn't tell the glittering lights of the capital city from the tears in her eyes. A knot in her chest tightened. "I was really dead?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, but you're here now," he muttered, pressing a lingering kiss to her bare shoulder.

They stood like that for a moment, both watching the city bustle below until Steve squeezed her.

"We should shower," he said into her hair. "And try to get some sleep."

She nodded, letting him usher her toward the bathroom.

As they crossed the darkened room, Natasha caught sight of the bed. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark. The mattress sat off-centered from the frame and pushed away from the wall. The quilt and sheets were dislodged from once-neatly tucked corners and hanging off the side.

She was glad they had a second bed that they could sleep in like normal people.

Like ordinary lovers.

In a way, wasn't this what she wanted after they brought everyone back? A chance to see how things would unfold between her and Steve?

But what happened in this hotel room was much heavier than she anticipated. Natasha didn't want to think about the enormity of what it all of this meant — Steve's declarations of love (which were many) or his bringing her back from Vormir (which was far too big).

In the early days of their friendship, she would have assumed Steve wanted a nice girl and a place in Brooklyn. Maybe kids. He'd be good with kids, she imagined. He'd teach them to have a strong moral compass and stand up for what they thought was right. He'd be a committed husband — after all, he was so devoted to Peggy for all those years.

Peggy.

He saw Peggy again, returning the stones. It wasn't even possible in her mind when they were planning the time heist with limited scope and resources that Steve would find her. Natasha didn't want to admit it, but knowing he reunited briefly with the love of his life (his words) was terrifying.

For whatever he might feel for her, it paled in comparison to the torch he carried for Peggy Carter.

She could figure it out tomorrow. Or the day after that. Because thanks to Steve Rogers, she had time.

* * *

Natasha didn't remember falling asleep. But a strange, amber void waited for her in her dreams. Watery horizons all around her, and an echoing voice.

It wasn't the first time she had dreamed about this place. The first time was when she was in the belly of the _Milano_ , though she was unable to recall what she saw.

This time, she wasn't alone.

In the dream, they sat at a conference table on the same side of the table. Natasha listened for any tell-tale signs of what was happening around them. But her companion couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised. You. Me. End of the world. We were always a couple of troublemakers. Sure, we could clean up nice. Say the right things. But no one was able to control us."

Natasha tilted her chin, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of her companion.

Dark hair, darker eyes. His eye socket busted. His silk shirt open with the sleeves rolled up, drops of blood on the collar. His suit vest undone.

Tony.

By appearances, he looked younger than she had last seen him. His hair hadn't yet silvered. Deep worry lines hadn't set in. Was she dreaming about ...Berlin? If that were the case, Tony hadn't yet felt betrayed by her — hadn't yet felt betrayed by Steve.

Still, he looked worn down and heartbroken. Had they all looked this tired — this beaten down — before they knew what was to come?

"We didn't have anything until we had the team," she admitted, a feeling they both shared at various points. Something they saw in each other. Everyone else had a life and purpose outside of the team. For Clint, his family. For Bruce, his research. For Thor, his people. For Steve, his friends.

But Tony and Natasha? They found their purpose with the Avengers. They needed the team more than anyone else.

Tony flashed her a warm, nostalgic smirk for her benefit. "All those military types couldn't predict what we'd do... what we were willing to do to protect our family."

Natasha had many objections to that statement, but it was his syntax that caught her attention. "...Were?"

"Yeah, past tense," he said, punctuated with a chuckle of disbelief. "It was up to us to save the day. Stark and Romanoff. Make the sacrifice play. Bail everyone out. But what did it cost?"

She furrowed her brow, not able to keep up with his nonsense. "What are you talking about?"

Tony studied her before pity flashed across his features, and he dropped the teasing. "He hasn't told you."

" _Who_ hasn't told me _what_?" she asked, swiveling her chair toward him.

Tony rubbed at his chest where his arc reactor would've been — a nervous gesture she remembered. He almost glowed, light pulsing under the surface.

This scene seemed so familiar, so like the feelings she had about being dead and running through her memories. But this wasn't a conversation she remembered, so it must've been a dream.

Right?

She glanced at the orange horizons again. What was this place?

"Captain Rogers," Tony eventually answered, drawing her attention back to him. He leaned back in his chair as he watched her. "Don't let him keep you in the dark. Don't let him spare your feelings."

"Tony..." she said, warning in her voice. "Tell me what's going on."

"Agent Romanoff," Tony echoed, mimicking her tone. Then he grew serious, as the charm fell away whenever he got real with her. He knocked on the table before pointing at her and gave her some marching orders. "Ask him yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕Hi all, hope you have been staying safe and taking care of yourselves. I have been feeling better lately, and _FINALLY_ finished this chapter. I kept moving things around, but rewatching some of the movies lately have helped me solve some of the narrative problems I foresaw coming if I didn't take the time to sort them out or set up some stuff now.
> 
> Also, lol, hope you didn't think I was done with the Soul Stone. 😇 
> 
> I have a good chunk of ~~Chapter 12 drafted (actually moved a scene from this chapter to there, and consolidated some ideas), so I hope to have that for you soon. The next chapter will wrap the Xandar part of our story (which really _is_ the vacation) and catapult them into the next conflict -- how to get Nat home.~~ I lie. Hahaha, you'll see.
> 
> Take care 💜  
> \- Phoenician (Kate)


	12. 16b.Contraxia.2018

_"I bet the raccoon didn't have to climb a mountain."_  
\- Natasha Romanoff

**_Contraxia, 2018_ **

* * *

Another snowy night. Another clan of thieves. Neon signage of various seedy establishments cycled through a rainbow, casting a colorful haze over the blizzard town.

Contraxia woke from its dreary stasis whenever a ship entered atmo. The passage of time was marked not by seasons (of which there were none) but by the Ravagers. The vice planet catered to them. Here, they could reunite with their comrades in the snow, regale stories by a fire pit, or indulge in the love bots down at the Iron Lotus.

Off the town square and wedged between two bordellos, there was a hole-in-the-wall bar. It had no flashy neon signs or drink specials advertised. No scantily-clad women (flesh or otherwise) danced out front to entice business. Behind the bar was a Terran woman known as the Widow — or simply, Natalie.

No one knew how a woman from Terra ended up on that side of the galaxy, much less on a planet like Contraxia. Her regular patrons appreciated her straight talk and quiet presence. Others made the pilgrimage simply to see a girl from Earth.

Those who wandered into her dive bar knew not to mess with her. Rumors circulated about her past. Had she been a jazz singer on Xandar before getting arrested for money laundering? Did she smuggle Skrull artifacts onto Hala? Was she a plant from the Nova Corps looking for Kree sympathizers?

She never corrected anyone, letting them draw their own conclusions as long as they didn't start trouble.

Because despite her beauty, the Widow had a reputation for being violent.

Occasionally there was a new idiot who wanted to make a pass at something flesh and blood. Ravagers were not subtle. She didn't need one of those translator implants to understand tone or body language when they were trying to be sly. They leered. They feared. They recognized displays of power and strength. They responded to demonstrations on how fast a skull would bounce off the counter.

As far as anyone knew, the woman Natalie had spent the last couple of years carving this life for herself. She didn't disrupt the business of larger establishments to cause herself any trouble. The Widow's bar did decently enough, so she could pay her bills.

It was a lonely life, despite the bevy of Ravagers.

It was a quiet life, despite the constant muffled music and buzzing neon.

As such, life on Contraxia suited Natasha Romanoff just fine.

The tell-tale _woosh_ of the bar's automatic door was the only warning before a gust of arctic air rushed in. One of her regulars was a middle-aged man, draped in his Ravager gear and clan colors. He stepped into the bar, stomping out the trash snow from his boots into the grated mat just inside the entrance. He shook out his gray jacket, then slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar.

Natasha finished her current task before moving to tend to him. "I knew I recognized that engine — you gonna get that thing looked at anytime soon?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, ducking his head sheepishly. "After the next job."

"Gonna fall right out of the sky one of these days," she warned him before placing a large metal tumbler of his usual beverage on the counter. "Let me guess. Rest of the crew at the Iron Lotus?"

"Yeah."

"They overcharge, and their drinks are weak."

"I know," he admitted, flashing a smile at her.

"But I still charge," she said. "Six units."

He grumbled but initiated the transfer. His resistance was mostly for show. He was always sweet on Natasha but never pushed his luck. So he was allowed to come back time and time again over the last couple of years she tended this bar.

Besides, despite her loneliness, she knew better than to get involved with a Ravager. She wasn't aware of the patron's name — not his real one. She made it a point to never ask.

Once her cash register alerted her to the incoming transfer, she confirmed the transaction. She caught a glimpse of the trading card tucked into the edge of the mirror behind the counter. A dopey-grinned Captain America saluted as she closed out the man's tab. She smirked softly at the card, which was found creased and half-buried at a junk shop on this side of the galaxy.

She handed him back his tab—

_Skchhhh—_

Pain pierced her temple. Orange flooded her mind.

She stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the bar.

The man lurched up from his stool. He reached out to catch her arm. "Natalie, are you—"

"I'm fine," Natasha snapped, waiting for the pain to subside before regaining her balance. "I'm fine."

She steadied herself before she recognized the sound outside — distant shouting and panicked cries. She lifted her head, her attention drawn toward the chaos gathering in the streets.

Natasha stepped cautiously toward the door. It automatically slid open, letting in the cold air and the screams. Her eyes tracked people as they scrambled past the bar.

"What... is going on?" the Ravager asked behind her.

She turned in time to see his face crumble.

_No._

Confusion. Commotion. Coming from the bar. Coming from the streets.

Natasha scanned the bar. Dust caught the light of the lottery machine in the corner. Dazed, she fell back to the wall as her surviving patrons shouted over each other and pushed toward the exit.

Outside, an explosion ruptured the chaos, followed by the power flickering.

 _No,_ she thought. _Not again._

She rushed back behind the bar. Swiping her bag, she plucked the trading card from the mirror. She ducked out from behind the counter and exited through the rear alley. She made it to the side road.

Those who survived the Snap filled the narrow streets, scurrying like mice with their heads cut off.

Overhead, ships fell out of the sky.

Natasha stalked in the opposite direction of the crowd. Her small apartment was on the edge of town, and she hoped to make it before something crashed into it. She passed under the neon signs that set snow and ash aglow.

She climbed the stairs up to her apartment, taking them two at a time. She flattened herself against the wall when neighbors stumbled down the stairwell, desperate to leave. The building shook from a nearby explosion.

The panic on Contraxia was so different from the shellshock she experienced the first time in Wakanda. There was one commonality, though: how quickly everyone fell apart.

Natasha slipped into her apartment and slapped the light switch on. Then, she removed the grate of a small gas stove in the corner of the living room.

Her apartment was small and looked like the inside of a spaceship. Maybe at one point, it was some breached vessels deconstructed and recycled into building materials on the frozen outpost.

She removed a modular panel from the wall, revealing a unit stuffed full of notebooks and loose papers. Some teased her for buying paper, but it was reliable. Untraceable. Years of writing, years of trying to remember everything that happened to her on Terra — Earth — after Thanos snapped half the universe away. Years of grasping to anything that could be the key to her returning home. She had drawn maps, scribbled coordinates, worked out a dozen possibilities in case this day ever came.

The wall unit looked like something out of _A Beautiful Mind._ Natasha had recommended that movie to Steve years ago. Had he taken the time to see it?

_Steve..._

Fresh tears burned in her eyes.

Four years ago, Steve Rogers had clipped the branch timeline when he returned the final stone... when he brought her back. His mission should have closed the timeline off, corrected the flow of time, and prevented it from splintering into darker alternate realities.

...Right?

If that was the case, then by her limited understanding of quantum physics and a crash course in time travel, the timeline should no longer exist in the aftermath of the correction. But it continued to exist, and Natasha had a suspicion why.

As far as she knew, Natasha was the only one left behind in the branch. An anomaly. Inflammation. A thorn in the branch's side. She had concluded in the four years after Steve returned the stones — after what happened on Xandar — that _she_ was the problem.

Natasha wasn't sure _if_ the Snap would happen in this timeline, much less _when_. Days, weeks, and months move differently on different planets. But she knew that one day, maybe, it might.

So here she was, far away from Wakanda, and still unable to stop the Snap.

The stabbing in her head back at the bar... that must've been when Thanos used the Stones. Why her headaches had been getting worse leading up to tonight, like the familiar hangover feeling after having orange-tinged dreams. The Soul Stone was activated and now in play.

Somewhere across the galaxy, Clint was losing his family all over again. Tony was lost in space, without the kid. A version of her was pulling Steve from the battlefields of Wakanda.

In some twisted way, she needed the events to happen again. If history unfolded in the same manner as the prime timeline, then... hopefully, she would be able to finally make the jump back home.

Hope was a dangerous thing. Along with her belief in Steve and a beat-up old trading card, it was all she had left.

Natasha scanned the inside cover and first page of one notebook, then the next, then another. As she rifled through them, she sorted them into two piles.

The first pile included a few notebooks that had summarized her thoughts that she'd need on a day like today when she had to quickly evacuate. This pile, she would take with her.

Natasha opened the front panel of the stove, revealing the flame.

The second pile — the larger pile — she would burn.

She methodically tossed the discarded notebooks into the stove. Their pages and cardboard covers curled as they gave out under the heat of the gas flame.

Paper turned to ash.

Natasha tucked in the trading card between the pages of one of her notebooks. Then she stuffed the surviving notebooks into her pack and a particular small hard-shell case. Natasha made sure to grab the charger for her firearm and some high-density nutrition bars. Once she was packed, she changed into her tactical gear — light gray to blend in with the dirty snowscape. She strapped the bag to her back.

Then Natasha grabbed the final piece.

The shield.

 _His_ shield.

Natasha slid her forearm through the straps. She had adjusted the shield long ago to fit her much smaller frame. She tightened the belts as her ears strained to pick up any immediate dangers lurking outside her window.

The coast was clear.

She ducked out the window to take the fire escape down to the alley behind her apartment building.

In the town square near the shipyards, the survivors gathered, surrounded by half-empty brothels and bottles. They fought. They pleaded. She never understood the breadth of their code or religion, but she understood mourning when she saw it.

Pushing past the edge of the crowd, she spotted a lowered ramp of an airship down the shipyard. She recognized its hull and wings. M-Class. She didn't recognize the colors, but hopefully, it'd be a model she could fly.

Natasha crept up the loading ramp, keeping an eye out for anyone inside. She had to act fast. Ravagers were scavengers. She wasn't sure when their sense of theft would kick back on and take advantage of the crime of opportunity.

The ship was empty.

Either the crew had been snapped into nothingness, or they gathered in the town square with their grief. Those left on Contraxia didn't know the unfathomable scale yet. Still, she wasn't likely to break the terrible news when trying to get off the planet unnoticed.

She dropped her bag, propped the shield up against the pilot's seat, and got to work. She quickly accessed the ship's network. She had gotten comfortable reading alien displays, even if she couldn't make out the words on the interface. A new notification gently pinged as she pivoted in the seat, flipping the switches to engage the engine.

There was likely a massive warship in orbit. While Natasha may want to stick to the M-class, she could dock and restock supplies—

"You think you can take my ship?" a deep, frayed voice boomed behind her.

An older man with tanned skin and dark gray hair loomed on the deck behind her. A man who looked worse for wear, like he had been on the receiving end of enough fistfights in his lifetime. A Ravager captain draped in navy blue stood in the cockpit archway with his firearm trained on her.

His hand was shaking.

Natasha recognized him from the regular rotation of clans on Contraxia. He never stopped by her bar, but she knew his name. She scanned him, determined that Stakar Ogord really wasn't a threat to her, and then returned her attention to the holo-screen.

She had an answer to his rhetorical question. "Yes."

"My crew, my _wife_ — all gone," he growled. "And like hell, I'm going to let you take my ship."

"You're not going to shoot me," she stated, launching the nav system onto the holoscreen in front of her.

"How do you figure?"

"Because I need to get back to Earth in five years, and you're going to help me."

"Why in the hell would I help the likes of you?"

She kept her face stoic. "Because what's happening on Contraxia is happening everywhere. Half of life in the universe. Gone in a snap," she said, lowering her eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss — but it's everyone's loss."

Natasha punched in the coordinates to a familiar planet but hesitated after her reflexive gesture. Xandar was where Thanos claimed the first stone, so it would be destroyed. Where else could she go? Morag was a dump of a place — ruins ruined. Asgard would've been destroyed at this point, and she wouldn't even know how to get there. It was too early to return to Earth. Possibly Hala...

She should've sweet-talked information out of that handsome patron before he turned to ash. Far away places — other habitable planets — to bide her time until it was safe for her to interfere with the events on Earth.

Her heart hurt.

Not for the man, but for the galaxy.

Ogord watched her with disdain, saying nothing for a long time. "I know who you are," he finally said, lowering his weapon. "You're the Widow."

The name Black Widow didn't really translate. But some many insects or insectoids were much... grosser or more massive than on Earth, so she never bothered correcting them when they called her the Widow. Better that than being associated with some oozing space bug.

"Who'd you lose?"

Natasha's green eyes snapped to his.

Ogord continued. "With a name like the Widow, you lost someone. Someone important. Now tell me why it's so important that you gotta get to Earth in five years, and then I'll think about whether or not I'll help you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🤔 I was writing the next Xandar chapter (which will now be Chapter 13) when I had an epiphany: _Why was I writing/posting the second part of the story in a sequence of events when I hadn't done that for Steve?_ It's all jumbly anyway due to time travel and flashbacks/forwards. 
> 
> So I reworked the order of scenes: present and future will be running in parallel, and I'll shift between the two in each chapter as we are progressing toward the end. We'll move between Steve and Nat together on Xandar and her alone in the future. The first half of the story was heavily Steve-focused as he worked toward reuniting with Natasha. This second half is Nat's turn and the chapters often mirror what Steve went through to get to her. This chapter, for example, mirrors Steve meeting Quill on Morag.
> 
> On Nat's conclusions, her understanding of the alternate timeline situation is different from what Marvel might establish for the multiverse. I was hoping that _Black Widow, WandaVision, Loki,_ , etc would come out this year and help inform that aspect. But I decided to focus on what her conclusion was, even if it ends up not being true in the MCU. She's working under those assumptions! 
> 
> As for Thanos and the Snap occurring again, I knew the Snap was going to happen again from the beginning -- the whole thing is called _Dust to Dust_ , after all. I just wasn't sure initially if it would be Steve, Nat, or both of them together who had to relive that. My interpretation was once Steve returned the Power Stone, a branch version of Thanos had no reason to follow them back to the prime timeline. I wrote some stuff about it but I figured Steve and Nat wouldn't pontificate too much on it anyway and just deal with the facts haha. 
> 
> Lastly, I wanted to thank all of you who have followed along so far. When I first started writing _Dust to Dust_ , I was thinking I'd write 8,000-10,000 words, a bunch of moody vignettes, and call it a day. This became much bigger but I am so happy with the results so far. 
> 
> Hopefully, you'll enjoy seeing how Natasha is figuring out how to get home, just as y'all enjoyed Steve figuring out how to get Nat back. 
> 
> Have a safe week and stay safe.
> 
> See y'all again soon! 💜  
> -Phoenician (Kate) | [contact on tumblr](https://phoenician-lady.tumblr.com/ask)


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